Ragnarok
by SFCBruce
Summary: The Catastrophes. Ragnarok. The Twilight of the Gods. The global Armageddon that gave rise to the Nation of Panem. This is one way that these events may have occurred. You will recognize many ancestral canon names among the characters in this tale. Please read and enjoy - and reviews are always welcome - and I, of course, own nothing!
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1 - PAN-STARRS**

**THE OUTER OORT CLOUD - TWO MILLION YEARS BEFORE PRESENT**

_The comet drifted silently in its long, lonely orbit about the tiny, intensely bright pinprick of light that lay close to six trillion miles away. Here, in the very outermost reaches of the solar system, at the very limit of the gravitational attraction of an unremarkable yellow dwarf star that would someday be simply known as the Sun, the comet, and trillions of others like it, moved almost imperceptibly in an interstellar deep freeze._

_The comet had been born much closer to the star that it now circled. Baptized by fire, it spent its tumultuous infancy being pummeled about by its siblings. Slowly growing with every impact, for thousands of years it continued to accrete dust, then rock, and, as it slowly moved further away from its parent star, more exotic chemicals and compounds. These growing pains went on for close to four hundred million years._

_If it had eyes and a brain, it would have noticed some of its siblings growing massively huge...so big, in fact, that their own gravity finally crushed them into spherical shapes as they continued to pull in and consume their smaller neighbors. If it could feel emotion, it may have felt alarm, then fear, as the largest of these new monsters fell into a celestial dance as they orbited the parent star, causing gravitational tsunamis to surge through the solar system over and over again, until the very largest of these massive, gas-covered spheres actually began migrating inward, flinging smaller bodies in every direction with its brutal gravity._

_The comet was an early victim - seized by the monsters steely grip and hurled away, along with millions of its siblings. Along the way it encountered a smaller body that had also been caught by the gaseous gravitational bully and tossed aside - but this one wasn't a sibling of the comet, but rather, a cousin - smaller, but made of much denser material. Even as they sped away from the warmth of their parent star, they fell into their own gravitational dance, circling each other around a common center._

_For millions of years the pair - the larger comet and its smaller asteroid companion - sailed outward, away from the chaos that was taking place below them in what would later be named the Late Heavy Bombardment. Finally, the tenuous grip of the stars gravity was finally able to slow their outward progress, and the pair settled into a leisurely orbit, having traveled so far from their parent that its light took almost a year to reach them._

_The light was an intensely bright pinprick, but offered no heat. Together the pair drifted, two among trillions in a cosmic icebox that would someday be named after the human astronomer, Jan Oort, that first suggested that such a place could exist. Taking millions of years to complete one circuit, the pair remained undisturbed for over four billion years. The asteroid became a frozen lump of rock and metal, coated with a thin sheen of impossibly cold chemical compounds - but the comet continued to grow. Even out here, in an interstellar no-mans land, the comet was able to attract elements, one atom at a time. Hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen - for four billion years it grew. Its home, the Oort Cloud, was a lonely place. Aside from its companion, the comets nearest neighbors were almost eight hundred million miles away. And so, for billions of years, it continued to add elements and compounds, undisturbed - until a celestial intruder paid a visit._

_The brown dwarf - too big to be a planet, but too small to be a star - had drifted in its orbit around the Galactic Core, along with trillions of other objects - stars, other brown dwarfs, and rogue planets. Its journey finally caused it to brush against the Oort Cloud, but in the vastness of interstellar space, it only came close to one insignificant object._

_To be fair, it wasn't exactly a "close encounter." The brown dwarf never came closer to the comet than the Earth does to the planet Venus. Still, the comet was nudged by the gravity of the brown dwarf, and the internal heat generated by the brown dwarfs' continual attempts to ignite itself into a proper star was just enough to warm one side of the comet, causing some of its surface to flash into gas and sublimate into space._

_The comet wobbled in its orbit as the brown dwarf upset the delicate balance between comet and sun. Then, like a spinning top that slows down, the comet wobbled once more, then tipped over and began to fall, ever so slowly, towards the only other object exerting any type of gravitational attraction on it - its parent star._

_It would take hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of years for the comet and its companion to complete their journey - but they were both going back to the star that gave them birth - they were both going home._

**12:27 A.M. - WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1ST, 2070**

Melody Temple rubbed her eyes, debating to herself on whether or not to have another cup of coffee. Sighing in frustration, she tapped a set of new commands into the Image Differencing program, watching the computer screen in front of her accept the data.

New Years Eve. She had made plans to attend the formal New Years celebration at the Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam Officer's Club with the young Naval officer that she had met recently, Lieutenant Charles Smith. Charles ("Please don't call me Charlie, Chuck or Chas - it's Charles") was assigned to Base Operations, and was the polar opposite of what she had thought a dashing young naval officer would look like. Short and squat, with an unruly shock of reddish-blonde hair, his appearance seemed to be better suited to one of the gravel-voiced Bosun's Mates than an "officer and a gentleman."

Melody herself was no stranger to the old adage of "appearances can be deceiving." Looking at her, no one would guess that she was an Astronomy graduate student. Blessed with beauty from the day she was born, if one was to base their opinion on looks alone they may guess that she competed in beauty pageants (which she had done), or was possibly even an actress (never in a million years). Tall and slender, with raven black hair, she turned heads wherever she went. But astronomy was her passion, and had been since she was eight years old.

And so, when she had been offered the opportunity to spend her winter break on the island of Maui working at the PAN-STARRS observatory, she jumped at the chance. Working at the most sophisticated facility of its kind in the world, assisting in its never-ending search for potentially hazardous Near Earth Objects (or NEO's) such as asteroids and comets. It all seemed very glamorous...until she realized that entering data for the computer to analyze for hours on end was neither exciting nor glamorous.

In fact, nothing much had really happened since she arrived in Maui. Her original excitement at spending winter break on this beautiful Hawaiian island faded with the realization that she would be spending an enormous amount of time doing exactly what she was doing right now. Her vision of soaking up the winter sun on a beautiful Maui beach had been replaced by squinting at a computer screen night after night. The one bright spot had been the holiday mixer - where she met Charles.

Selected members of the PAN-STARRS staff traveled to Oahu to attend the Joint Base holiday mixer. As PAN-STARRS was partially funded by the U.S. Defense Department, due to its military applications, these mixers were seen as a necessary evil. That being said, Melody was quite impressed with the nature of the mixer at the Admirals residence. Growing up in San Francisco and spending the bulk of her higher education at U.C. Berkeley, she had almost no contact with anyone in the military - until now. And there was certainly no lack of handsome young officers paying attention to her. But the one that intrigued her the most was the one young officer that was ignoring her - Charles Smith.

Lieutenant Smith certainly stood out from the crowd - literally because he stood out...apart from everyone else. Everyone at the mixer seemed to gravitate into groups, with the military brass and PAN-STARRS officials making a great effort to have their groups mingle with one another as much as possible. Melody certainly didn't have much problem in attracting attention from many of the young officers present; but, as usual, none of them could see past her looks. But this short, squat, average looking officer was virtually ignoring her - and that was intriguing.

Melody, in the course of making small talk, found out some very interesting things about Lieutenant Charles Smith. He had graduated from the Naval Academy second in his class. He had been the first officer from his graduating class to be promoted to full Lieutenant. And, during his first posting as a junior watch officer on board the frigate U.S.S. _Scott_, he had been awarded the Navy Cross and Purple Heart for gallantry in action while the frigate was engaging Somali pirates off the Horn of Africa in 2066.

These revelations inspired Melody to learn more about this enigmatic man, so, at her first opportunity, she excused herself from her growing crowd of admirers and went in search of Lieutenant Smith. After a quick visit to the ladies room (her original excuse for breaking away from the group), she made a quick survey of the Admiral's residence and found him standing on the back patio, drink in hand, looking up at the night sky.

Tentatively, she approached Lieutenant Smith. He didn't seem to notice her as she shyly walked out onto the patio.

"Good evening," he said in a smooth, well modulated voice.

"Uhh...hello," Melody, surprised, managed to stammer out.

"Won't they get lonely?" He asked as he took a sip from his drink.

"Who?" Melody asked, confused.

Lieutenant Smith finally turned to her, looking at her for the first time. He gave her a crooked grin as he answered her.

"Your admirers, of course," he says, nodding back towards the residence.

"Oh. Uhh, well...they were nice and all, but..." Melody found herself blushing and wondered why this man was affecting her this way.

"I'm Charles," he says suddenly, offering his hand. Melody took his hand in hers and noticed that he, too, was blushing slightly.

"Melody. Nice to meet you, Charles," she says softly.

"My pleasure, Melody," Charles says. "Have we ever spoken before?"

Melody frowned, puzzled. "No, I don't believe so," she says.

"You work for PAN-STARRS?" he asks.

"Yes," Melody nods, "But only until the end of next month."

"I see," Charles says thoughtfully. "And what happens then?"

"I go back to school," Melody says. "Berkeley. I'm in the Astronomy Graduate Program there."

At this news Melody saw Charles redden and he turned away slightly. "My apologies," he stammered out. "When you said you worked for PAN-STARRS I assumed you worked in the office - you know - clerical."

"You mean like a receptionist, or secretary?" Melody asked. Rather than taking offense at his assumption, she was instead amused - and a little touched that he would so freely offer up his apology.

"Yes," Charles says. "I assumed - well, I mean, because you - what I'm trying to say is -"

"Is that someone that looks like me couldn't possibly be an astronomer?" Melody finished for him gently.

"Pretty sexist of me, huh?" Charles asks quietly, not looking Melody in the eye.

"Very," Melody says with a smile. _His honesty and bluntness is so refreshing!_ She says to herself.

"I'm sorry," he says in a rush. "I didn't mean to offend -"

"No offense taken, Charles," Melody quickly says. "So what were you examining so intently?"

Charles lets out a sigh of relief, then turns and points to a constellation hanging low in the night sky.

"Orion," he says. "It's always been my favorite."

"Mine, too," Melody says, standing next to him. She points up to the constellation. "Betelgeuse, Meissa, Bellatrix..."

Charles takes up the litany. "Alnitak, Alnilam, Mintaka..."

"The Great Nebula," Melody says softly.

"Saiph...and Rigel," Charles finishes. For the next half hour or so they stand outside, pointing out various stars, and discussing their shared passion. By the time they rejoined the others inside, they had made dinner plans for the following Friday.

Melody had found their budding relationship to be enormously satisfying. Although she knew he was enormously attracted to her he was the consummate gentleman - a trait that she found refreshing, but was determined to change come New Years Eve. Until that fateful phone call earlier in the day. The girl that was supposed to monitor the Image Differencing system had eaten some bad sushi and was now paying the price for it.

Charles had, of course, been very understanding, but she could tell that he was disappointed. As they had gotten to know each other better, he confessed to her that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever dated, and it was pretty apparent that he wanted to show her off a little bit at the Officer's Club that evening. That simply fueled her determination to make up for this evening at the first opportunity. She had already started planning a weekend getaway at the Hale Koa Hotel. This coming weekend she would -

_BEEP-BEEP._

The sound of the alarm jolted her out of her reverie. Sitting bolt upright, her heart pounding, she waited, holding her breath, until -

_BEEP-BEEP._

With trembling fingers she quickly tapped a few commands into the computer. The Image Differencing system was digitally comparing thousands of high resolution images taken several days apart, looking for the telltale movement that would mark the discovery of a new celestial body. The orbits of all known objects had already been programmed into the computer, so the alarm would only be triggered by something whose orbit was not known.

In other words, an unknown asteroid - or a new comet.

Melody waited impatiently for the images to load up on her screen. Once they finished loading, she quickly consulted the discovery protocol procedures, then sent a message requesting confirmation, complete with celestial coordinates, to the Mauna Kea Observatory. Once that was completed she sat back and regarded the images on her computer screen.

The split image showed a diffuse, fuzzy object. She could see the distinct jump when she toggled back and forth between the two images. Using a Blink Comparator, it was in this way that Clyde Tombaugh had discovered the first Kuiper Belt Object, the dwarf planet Pluto, almost 140 years earlier. But this was no Kuiper Belt Object and most likely it wasn't an asteroid. She double checked the inclination of the object relative to the Solar System's own ecliptic plane, then sat back, feeling the warm glow of discovery.

Melody Temple had just discovered a new comet - and from the look of things, it was a damn big one.

"Where did _you_ come from?" she whispered.

**11:42 A.M. - WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1ST, 2070**

Dr. Jack Hawthorne thoughtfully examined the data displayed on the computer screen for a few seconds, then double checked the message that had come in earlier from Mauna Kea Observatory. He chuckled slightly, remembering the greeting he had received when he had arrived at the observatory that morning.

He had only intended to pop in for a few minutes, go over last nights data, then head home for a day of parades and football - but Melody Temples discovery had changed all that. The girl was positively giddy over her comet. Breathlessly, she showed him her data and also informed him that, per protocol, she had already requested confirmation from Mauna Kea. It was obvious that the girl was excited - it's not every day that someone discovers a new comet, especially one that looks to be as spectacular as this one looks to be - but it was also obvious that the girl was running on fumes. He sent her off to the small apartment she was sharing with some other astronomy grad students during her stay here with the promise that he would call her if anything new was discovered before she started her shift tonight.

Mauna Kea had, in fact, confirmed the discovery. Jack quickly checked the data base for the International Astronomical Union - the IAU - to see if anyone else had reported the discovery, and found to his satisfaction that no one else had. Quickly logging in to the IAU server, he uploaded the data both from PAN-STARRS and Mauna Kea, and finally gave the comet an official designation:

C/2070-01/MT-PAN-STARRS ("Melody's Comet")

_Looks like you're in for your fifteen minutes of fame, Melody,_ he says to himself as the computer confirms that the upload and send was successful. He felt a brief pang of envy at her discovery - everything so far was pointing to Melody's Comet being the Great Comet of 2070, and would most likely surpass the display put on by Halley's Comet just nine years before.

A few minutes later a return message from the IAU confirmed the discovery. The message was also sent to the Mauna Kea Observatory, with the request that both facilities begin analysis of the orbit of the new object. Jack immediately sent a confirmation of receipt of the message, then picked up the phone to call his wife. It didn't look like he would be home for a while, after all.

**4:48 P.M. - WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1ST, 2070**

Jack sat back in his chair and, grim faced, examined the orbital data that he had been working on. He glanced at the nervous looking grad student sitting across from him. Elise Orr chewed nervously at her thumbnail as Jack examined her data, but said nothing.

Jack reached over and punched the keypad on his Vid-Phone. The screen came to life and filled with the image of a smiling young man.

"Hello, PAN-STARRS, and Happy New Year. Mauna Kea here," the face on the screen says cheerily.

"Is Dr. Roshenko available?" Jack gruffly asks. The young man on the screen immediately loses his smile and says, "One moment, Dr. Hawthorne, while I connect you." The image on the screen goes dark and music begins to play briefly, but then a new image of a tired looking woman flashes up on the Vid-Phone. Unsmiling, she runs her fingers absently through the short strawberry blonde curls on her head, then speaks.

"Jack. I've been expecting your call."

"Hello, Elena. Happy New Year." Jack flashes a brief, wan smile at the woman on the screen.

Elena Roshenko barks out a brief, bitter laugh. "Happy New Year, indeed, Jack. Is this our last one?"

"Secure your line," Jack orders and taps a control on the screen. The image flickers, then steadies. He sees Elena do the same. A computer generated voice states "Line secured."

"You've reached the same conclusion that we have, I take it?" Jack asks.

Elena nods grimly. "We have. I'm sure we'll get confirmation for that from the IAU at any time now."

"And you've had someone there run an independent analysis?" Jack asks.

"If you mean, has someone else her checked my work - the answer, of course, is yes," Elena says sharply. Jack nods thoughtfully.

"Same here," he says. "And for the most part, the same answer. When do you put perigee?"

Elena laughs again. "Sorry, Jack. I know there's nothing funny about this. But _perigee_ - that implies a miss!"

"Elena, come on," Jack says, exasperation in his voice.

"July 4th" Elena answers somberly. Jack nods in agreement. "Same here."

"When do we notify Jackson?" Elena asks.

"I want IAU confirmation first. Plus, we need to take a closer look at this thing - and that will take the Tyson Orbital Observatory. It'll take an IAU directive to shift Tyson on such short notice - its work is usually booked months in advance."

"Good idea," Elena says, nodding in agreement. "I have a contact or two in the IAU - I think I can get them to spare some time off the cuff." At that moment Jack heard his computer chime with the incoming message notification. He see Elena's eyes dart to her left as her computer sends the same notification.

"IAU message," Jack says tersely. "Hang on for a moment." He quickly scans the message and returns to the Vid-Phone screen, his face a grim mask. Elena glances up from her own computer a moment later.

"Confirmed," Jack reads. "Perigee distance is calculated to be 9,000 kilometers or less."

"Less than one Earth diameter," Elena whispers. "Jack, there's still a chance -"

"Yeah," Jack says unconvincingly. "Slim to none. Who else there knows about this?"

"Just myself and one of my grad students," Elena asks.

"Same here," Jacks says, "And did you see the IAU admonishment? 'Not for Public Release?' I'm gonna have to tell one other person, anyway."

"Your student that made the discovery?" Elena asks. Jack nods.

"I'll wait until she comes in tonight. I'll be damned if I'm gonna tell her any way other than in person that she's the one to find the end of the world."

**6:43 P.M. - WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1ST, 2070**

Melody Temple numbly pulled the battered car out of the parking space and headed slowly down the mountain. She had arrived at the observatory promptly at 6 P.M. and was prepared to admonish Dr. Hawthorne for not calling her as he had promised once her discovery was confirmed. When she walked into the building, the first person she encountered was Elise Orr.

"Dr. Hawthorne wants to see you - right away," Elise says tightly. _See looks positively grim!_ Melody says to herself.

"Feeling better, Elise? Gotta watch out for that bad sushi!" Melody's attempt at a joke falls completely flat. As Melody walks past her she see tears forming in Elise's eyes. _It was just a little joke,_ Melody wanted to say, but then she was in Dr. Hawthorne's office.

Five minutes later, she understood completely why Elise was so upset. For the next twenty minutes or so she poured over the data that Dr. Hawthorne was showing her. Although she didn't run the figures herself, she had confidence that what she was being shown was correct.

She discovered the end of the world.

Dr. Hawthorne had suggested that she take the night off, and she was in no condition to argue. As she sat in the car she had a sudden, ridiculous thought - PAN-STARRS was designed to find potentially hazardous celestial objects, and she found a doozy - so why bother staffing it at all? Tonight or any other night for that matter? In six months it wouldn't matter anymore, anyway.

Dr. Hawthorne had admonished her not to discuss this with anyone - at least until the knowledge became public. He also told her that he would be talking to Thomas Jackson, the Presidential Science Advisor, later on in the evening to appraise him of the situation.

Mechanically, Melody drove down the mountain. In spite of its battered appearance, the cars hydrogen engine purred smoothly. She suddenly realized that she had nowhere to go - nowhere she _could _go at a time like this. She certainly couldn't talk to Charles about it, and didn't want to go back to the small apartment. She found herself pulling into the parking lot of a small bar.

"Perfect," she muttered to herself as she slowly walked into the bar. It was almost completely empty. She walked up to the bar and fumbled at her purse.

"Can I help you, miss?" The voice of the bartender, a Hawaiian about her age, cut through her thoughts.

"Oh...uhh...double Jack Daniels on the rocks," she stammered out. The bartender wordlessly poured her the drink. After paying she walked to a small, empty table, sat down, and raised her glass to the sky.

"To Melody's Comet," she says bitterly, taking a large swallow of the potent bourbon.

**7:16 P.M. - WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1ST, 2070**

The bleary, sleep-creased face of Dr. Thomas Jackson, Presidential Science Advisor to President Janice York, stared in disbelief at Jack Hawthorne as he digested the information that he had just been given.

"This, of course, has been confirmed, Dr. Hawthorne?" Jackson snapped out.

"By five independent set of calculations, based on the orbital data received thus far," Jack replies, trying valiantly to control his temper.

"But this is, after all, a comet," Jackson says. "Comets outgas and form all sorts of eruptive plumes - any one of which can affect the orbit of a body of this nature."

"Yes, sir, all that's true - but our observations have shown an incredibly close perigee. At this juncture, a miss is the more unlikely of the two scenarios," Jack explained patiently.

"Dr. Hawthorne, I think any announcement now would be premature. This object should be kept under observation for a while until a more thorough calculation of its orbit can be made. Otherwise, we'll do nothing but incite a panic."

"Dr. Jackson - we can watch it for days, a week, even a month - and all that will tell us is where it will probably strike when it does. The very unpredictability of comets is exactly why I'm calling you now. This isn't Apophis, which, you recall, missed us in both 2029 and 2036. Apophis is an asteroid with a very easily calculated orbit. This is an Oort Cloud comet - a damn big one - that will be traveling at fifty-one kilometers per second as it approaches Earth. And further observation has revealed an anomalous feature that we haven't quite been able to identify. God knows, I hope - _I wish_ - I'm wrong. But from where I sit, there will be a major impact event on Planet Earth on July 4th of this year. But for now, I simply suggest that you brief the President on what we know so far."

Jackson sighs heavily. He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment. Finally - "Alright. Send me all your data. The President has her 7 AM "coffee brief" tomorrow morning. I'm always invited to attend, although more often than not, I usually have nothing to contribute. I will appraise her of the discovery and of the potential - I say again, _potential_ risk of an impact. When will you have more concrete data?"

Jack looks thoughtful for a moment. "If we get time with Tyson, that, along with maintaining observation from here and Mauna Kea - forty-eight hours and we'll be able to tell you what hemisphere this thing will come down in."

Thomas Jackson nods. "Dr. Hawthorne, I'll appreciate your continued - discretion - regarding this issue. And I'll keep you appraised of my meeting with the President tomorrow. Goodnight." The connection is suddenly terminated. Jack reaches over and taps the "End Call" button. He then types in a few commands to send Thomas Jackson all the data collected thus far on Melody's Comet

Tiredly, Jack stands up and gathers up his coat. _My wife is not too happy about my being here today,_ he thinks. _I'll make it up to her, tonight._

If he's right, humanity has about one hundred eighty three more nights to ever make anything right again.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 - SHIVA**

**THE WHITE HOUSE - 5:00 A.M., THURSDAY, JANUARY 2ND, 2070**

"Madam President?" A soft voice cut through the fog of sleep that enshrouded Janice York's brain. _Not yet, _she thought, _just ten - no, five - five more minutes._

A soft glow filled the room as a small light was turned on. "Madam President?" The same voice called out again, a little louder and more insistent this time.

"Hmmphhff," Janice groped blindly for her husband, but Ed, as usual, was already up. Dimly, she becomes aware that the TV in their quarters is turned on - one of the news channels, from the faint sounds coming from it, probably Global News Network, Ed's favorite - but Ed was most likely in the gym, already pounding out miles on the treadmill. He much preferred running outdoors, but the blizzard that hit Washington on New Year's Day dumped over two feet of snow on the ground, and D.C. was still digging itself out.

The TV suddenly got louder, and Janice could hear the rattle of a cup on its saucer, followed by the aroma of Earl Grey tea wafting through the air. With a groan, she rolled over and reluctantly opened her eyes, to find her Deputy Chief of Staff, Amanda Dalton, looking down at her patiently, holding a NEWS-PADD in one hand.

"Good morning, Madam President," Amanda says with a smile.

Janice pushes her comforter down reluctantly, muttering "'Morning, Amanda" as she does so. Pushing herself to her feet, she stumbles to the bathroom and shuts the door. Already she could hear the bustle of activity outside her quarters as the White House staff gets ready for another day.

Finishing her business quickly, she washes her hands and steps back into the bedroom. Wordlessly, Amanda Dalton hands her the NEWS-PADD. Janice mutters her thanks along with, "Amanda, I'm awake. Go grab yourself some coffee or something. I'm okay...thanks again."

"Yes, Ma'am. See you at the coffee brief," Amanda says as she leaves the room. Janice turns her attention to the NEWS-PADD and, sipping her tea, begins to scroll through the various news items displayed on the small screen. A few items catch her interest - evacuations of major coastal cities due to rising sea levels, economic impacts from those evacuations, tension between Russia and China over border disputes in Mongolia, and - in spite of the snow on the ground outside her window - predictions that this year would once again break temperature records. She marked a few stories to read more thoroughly later on and scanned the TV news for anything that the NEWS-PADD may have missed.

At 37, Janice York is the youngest person every elected President of the United States. Always outspoken and active in politics, she had been elected to the Huntington, West Virginia, City Council while still in college, followed by her election to Congress at the age of 25, representing the State of West Virginia in the House of Representatives. A political rising star, Janice was elected Governor of West Virginia only four years later, and shocked everyone, herself included, when she defeated the incumbent President in 2068 to become the youngest President in United States history. Often described as a "cross between JFK and Harry Truman," after two years in office Janice still enjoyed a positive approval rating and was respected world wide.

In spite of the crushing workload that comes with holding political office, Janice and Ed still managed to find time to start a family. The twins, Veronica and Ed Jr., were 13 now, enrolled, to everyone's shock, in a public school in Washington. The kids, never knowing a time when their mother _wasn't_ in public office, took everything in stride.

Janice glanced at the bedside clock. 5:30. _The kids get another half hour_, she says to herself as she hears a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," she calls out, taking another sip of her tea, while half-watching the news program on TV.

A young woman enters the room, carrying a garment bag. "Good morning, Madam President," she says cheerily, opening the closet and hanging the bag inside.

"Good morning, Cecilia," Janice answers with a smile. The perpetually cheerful girl never failed to bring a smile to her face.

"Too chilly today for a skirt, but I think you will like the suit I selected for you today," Cecilia says with a smile.

"I'm sure I will. You've yet to fail me - and thank you," Janice says gratefully.

"My pleasure, Ma'am," Cecilia says as she moves to the door. She opens it to find a large, perspiring man reaching for the handle from the other side.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Colonel York!" Cecilia quickly steps aside, allowing the man to enter the room.

"Pardon me, Cecilia," he says with a smile, slipping by her as Cecilia leaves the room quickly. Ed York shuts the door behind her as she leaves, then turns to his wife and smiles.

"Nice run?" Janice asks, returning his smile. Ed steps over to his wife and gives her a quick kiss before answering.

"As good as it gets on a treadmill," he says as he strips off his sweat-soaked clothes in preparation for a shower. He turns back to Janice with a leer on his face. "How about it, Madam President? Care to join me? It's a big shower, after all!"

Janice laughs. "Another time, studmuffin. I have to get the kids up in a few and, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you have a staff meeting at the five sided puzzle palace at seven?"

"Dammit. The voice of reason strikes again!" Ed shuts the door to the bathroom and soon Janice could hear the shower running. Sighing, she goes to the closet and examines the suit that Cecilia selected for her today. Nodding in approval, she began laying out the rest of her clothing for the day.

Ed and Janice had been high school sweethearts. But where Janice had gone to the University of West Virginia, Ed had secured an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York. They were married the day he graduated from the Academy. In spite of the long separations necessitated by military service, Janice had never once used political influence to keep him posted close to home - and Ed would have been furious if she had. They had always had their separate careers, although now it was somewhat awkward with Ed's dual role as "First Husband." Still, Janice had to smile at the "coincidence" of Ed being posted to the Pentagon, assigned to the staff of the Army Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations, almost immediately after the election results certifying her election as President were posted.

Still, Ed was careful not to flaunt his unique relationship with the Commander in Chief. He was a well respected member of the military in his own right. And even though he had always thought of himself as a "field" officer rather than as a "staff" officer, he was enjoying his new assignment.

Slipping on a robe and slippers, she opened the door to their quarters to go wake up the kids. Nodding greetings to the various White House staff that she encountered, she quickly went to each child's room. To her surprise, both Veronica and Ed, Jr., were already awake and up. Reflexively telling them to hurry up, she walked back to her own bedroom to find Ed getting dressed.

"All yours," he gestures expansively towards the bathroom. Unlike Ed, who quite often takes forever to shower and get ready in the morning, Janice was all about economy of movement. Quickly showering, brushing her teeth, and applying light make up took far less time than Ed ever did.

After showering and quickly dressing, Janice then leaves the bedroom to join her family for breakfast. Ed was already in the dining room with the kids. Stepping into the hallway, she is immediately greeted by her Chief of Staff, Daniel Crane.

"Good morning, Madam President," he says, falling into step beside her, handing her the PADD he was carrying.

"'Morning, Dan," she replies, while skimming over the PADD screen. Just the usual - her morning schedule. "Anything I should know about?"

"Nothing Earth-shattering, Madam President," he replies. "All in all, a fairly light schedule this morning. After the coffee brief, you have a 9 A.M. with reps from GM, Ford, and AMC, along with the Secretary of Energy, to discuss the initiatives for hydrogen fueled vehicles; then at 10 you have reps from the African Union regarding the spike in piracy along Africa's East Coast, and an 11 A.M. with the Secretary of Defense on re-deployment strategies and force structure re-alignment."

"How about this afternoon?" Janice asks with a sigh.

Daniel Crane glances at his PADD and scrolls down. "We'll hit that at the end of the coffee brief."

"That bad, huh? Did you happen to schedule in any potty breaks?" Janice asks sarcastically.

The Chief of Staff lowers his voice and says softly, "You knew this job was a bitch going in, Jan."

Janice nods and sighs. "Oh yeah, and it's not even a full year since inauguration. Care to join us for breakfast?"

"No, thanks. I still have to finish setting up the coffee brief. See you at seven, Madam President."

Janice nods, turns, and enters the dining room for breakfast with her family before starting yet another day in the life of the President of the United States.

**THE ROOSEVELT ROOM - 7:00 A.M., THURSDAY, JANUARY 2ND, 2070**

Precisely at 7 A.M., Janice York strides into the Roosevelt Room, located in the West Wing of the White House, for the daily "coffee brief." This was an informal briefing where topics not necessarily on the daily schedule could be addressed, and, if necessary, adjustments to the daily schedule could be made.

"Good morning, everyone," she says cheerily to the assembled staff, taking a seat at the head of the conference table.

A muted chorus of "Good morning, Madam President," greets her in return. Rather than a formal meeting, the coffee brief was opened to any member of the staff that felt the need to present something to the President.

Janice surveys the room quickly. In addition to herself, the Chief and Deputy Chief of Staff, there was only one additional face at the table - her Science Advisor, Dr. Thomas Jackson. _Oh well, _she thought, _And here I thought I was gonna get a free hour the day after New Year's._ Pushing the thought aside, she glued a smile to her face and turned to her Science Advisor. It was then that she noticed that, not only was he _not_ smiling, he looked positively grim

"So, what do you have for me, Tom?" Janice asked.

"Potentially, the end of the world, Madam President," Thomas Jackson replies solemnly.

"I beg your pardon?" Janice says, a hint of annoyance in her voice. She's not in a joking mood.

Jackson takes a deep breath before continuing. "Madam President, last night I came into receipt of some very...disturbing...information from the PAN-STARRS observatory on Maui. This information has been confirmed independently by the Mauna Kea observatory and the International Astronomical Union." He pauses to tap a few commands on the PADD that sat on the table in front of him. "May I get the lights dimmed, please?"

At a nod from Janice York, Amanda Dalton quickly dimmed the lights and activated the view screen on the far wall.

Jackson tapped his PADD screen and suddenly the large view screen comes to life, displaying two pictures of star fields side by side. In each one a red arrow points to a diffuse blob of light.

"This discovery - Comet C/2070-01/MT-PAN-STARRS - was made early yesterday morning and confirmed - first by PAN-STARRS staff, then by Mauna Kea, and finally by the IAU. It shows a new comet, somewhat larger than Comet Halley, a little over five astronomical units, or a little over eight hundred million kilometers, from Earth, at an inclination of about 75 degrees above the plane of the ecliptic. The orbital calculations show that the perigee for this comet will be between six and ten thousand kilometers. As perigee is measured from the Earth's core rather than the surface, this indicates that the best we can hope for at this time is a miss on the order of about three thousand kilometers. However, the astronomers think a strike is much more likely." Thomas pauses for a moment to let President Janice York digest the information that he has just given her.

Janice forced her face to remain impassive during Jackson's recital. _My God, the man's serious!_ Glancing down at the PADD in front of her, Janice keyed in a couple of quick notes before looking up at the grim visage of her Science Advisor.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Tom, but this comet sounds quite far away still. Somewhat farther from us than we are from the planet Jupiter."

"That's correct, Ma'am," Jackson replied. "Early calculations predict it will reach perigee on July 4th of this year."

Janice tapped in a few commands on her PADD, then looked back up. "Then that means it must be traveling over 30 miles a second!"

Jackson nodded. "That would be its average velocity given the distance that it must travel. As it gets closer to the Sun - and us - it's velocity will be significantly greater. Right now it's actually significantly less."

"And what are the actual odds of this thing hitting us?" Janice asks.

"Madam President, I'm not an astronomer by training, and the astronomers that have been keeping this comet under observation haven't issued odds. But, given the preliminary orbital calculations, I would say the odds right now are fifty-fifty. Either it hits us or it doesn't. However, in checking with the IAU this morning, they've assigned a Torino rating of seven to this object."

Janice York frowned in puzzlement. "Torino rating?"

"The Torino scale was developed late in the 20th century to assign a risk factor for Near Earth Objects, or NEO's. A rating of zero indicates that there is no chance of an impact causing significant damage. A rating of ten would rank an object to the equivalent of the Chicxulub impact event over 65 million years ago. Since the Torino scale has been in use, no object - until now - has ever been rated above a four."

"And if this object strikes?" Janice asks quietly.

"It would be a ten, Madam President," Jackson replies grimly.

Nodding, Janice turns to Daniel Crane. "Dan, I want to talk to the astronomers involved in the discovery. Here, in person." She turns back to Thomas Jackson. "Tom, what were their names?"

Jackson keys his PADD. "Dr. Jack Hawthorne at PAN-STARRS and Dr. Elena Roshenko at Mauna Kea. Hawthorne mentioned that the actual discovery was made by a grad student - Melody somebody."

"Got those names, Dan?" Janice asks.

"Yes, Madam President. I'll contact Joint Base Pearl and arrange for immediate transport via hoverplane." Crane says, nodding to Amanda Dalton, who was busy keying in info on her own PADD.

"Good. I'll also need a meeting of the full cabinet, to include the Vice President, Senate and House Majority and Minority Leaders, Joint Chiefs, CIA, FBI, NSA, FEMA, and you, Tom. I want this to happen when we get our astronomers here, so time it accordingly."

"Yes, Madam President. Do you want me to clear today's schedule as well?"

"No. It'll take time to get everyone here. Until we meet, there's really nothing we can do. So, business as usual." Janice says lightly.

"What about the press?" Crane asks. "Word of this discovery is bound to leak out soon."

"Confirm the discovery - nothing more. Tom, can we count on everyone involved with this outside of this room to be discreet?"

"I'm sure of it, Madam President - at least for the time being." Jackson replies.

"Okay, then," Janice York says, standing up. "We all have work to do. Tom, stay on top of the IAU. We need as much data as we can get. Dan - I know you've got a handle on pulling everyone together - keep me updated as to the earliest we can hold that meeting. Amanda - you have everything on my 9 A.M. regarding the hydrogen engines initiatives?"

There was a chorus of "Yes, Madam President," from everyone else in the room. Thomas Jackson and Daniel Crane hurry off to work on their new tasks as Amanda Dalton falls in step with Janice York as they walk from the Roosevelt Room.

_I just hope that my face doesn't give away the fact that my mind is about five hundred million miles away,_ Janice York says to herself as Amanda quickly briefs her on her next meeting.

**GLOBAL NEWS NETWORK NOON NEWS UPDATE - THURSDAY, JANUARY 2ND, 2070**

*UNITED NATIONS COASTAL FLOODING COMMISSION ANNOUNCES NEW EVACUATIONS FOR URBAN CENTERS AFFECTED BY RISING SEA LEVELS - Kolkata and Mumbai in India, Dhaka and Chittagong in Bangladesh, Guangzhou and Shanghai in China, Bangkok in Thailand, Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, Rangoon in Myanmar, Miami, New York City, and Newark in United States, Alexandria in Egypt, Lagos in Nigeria, Tokyo in Japan, Jakarta in Indonesia. Each affected country has or is in the process of establishing refugee camps and relocation centers for the estimated 150 million persons directly affected by coastal flooding due to rising sea levels.

*WORLD BECOMES CARBON NEUTRAL FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE START OF THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION - Hydrogen has effectively replaced fossil fuels for most surface and air transportation. Clean burning hydrogen engines produce water as their exhaust. Solar farms, wind turbines, hydroelectric and nuclear power plants replacing coal power plants worldwide.

*CLARKE STATION CELEBRATES 20TH ANNIVERSARY - Clarke Station celebrated its 20th anniversary in orbit quietly, its current crew of 96 busy with the ongoing construction of the Outer Planets Exploration Vehicle "_Shoemaker." _ This vehicle, tentatively scheduled for launch next year, will conduct the first detailed crewed exploration of the Outer Planets.

*RUSSIAN AND CHINESE FORCES CLASH IN MONGOLIA - China filed a formal grievance with the United Nations Security Council today, claiming unprovoked acts of aggression by Russian forces along the disputed border areas between Russia and Mongolia. An estimated 180 to 200 Chinese troops were killed and over 500 wounded in an intense 30 minute artillery barrage by Russian forces. The Russian government filed a counter claim that the artillery strike was a "preventive measure" designed to disrupt an "obvious offensive build up" at the border, and that the Chinese government was warned a day in advance that the barrage would take place unless their troops were pulled back behind the five kilometer buffer zone.

*SHACKLETON BASE COMPLETES SURVEY - Astronauts at Shackleton Base, located at the Lunar South Pole, report the completion of the first comprehensive survey of Tsiolkovskiy Crater located on the moon's Far Side. Data collected from this survey is said to solidify the Giant Impact hypothesis regarding the formation of the moon and the theory that the present moon was formed by the low speed impact and merger of two smaller bodies then in orbit around the infant Earth.

*COMET DISCOVERED - Announcement was made today on the discovery of a new comet that was given the designation of C/2070-01/MT-PAN-STARRS. Astronomers so far have given very little information regarding this discovery, but some have been quoted off the record as saying this could very well be the Great Comet of 2070, and could even dwarf the fantastic display put on by Comet Halley nine years ago.

**JOINT BASE PEARL HARBOR - HICKAM - NOON, THURSDAY, JANUARY 2ND, 2070**

_Hurry up and wait._ The thought ran through Jack Hawthorne's mind again as he sat in the VIP Lounge with Elena Roshenko and Melody Temple. Roused from a not-so-sound sleep by Tom Jackson, who advised him to pack for a trip to Washington, D.C., picked up by hoverplane from an elementary school playground two blocks from his home 45 minutes later, and whisked to the Joint Base flight line, after stops to pick up Melody and Elena - only to sit and cool their heels for _hours _while someone, somewhere, untangled some bureaucratic red tape.

In all fairness, they had been treated like VIP's from the start. Fed a wonderful breakfast, soon to be followed by an equally wonderful lunch, and provided with everything they asked for - except communication with their families and the fact that they were restricted to the lounge. Initially, both Jack and Elena were gratified that someone, at least, had taken their warnings seriously - but that was hours ago. Repeated inquiries as to what was going on were met with polite, nebulous answers.

In the meantime, Jack and Elena busied themselves with consolidating their data. Soon, Jack brought Melody into the mix - seeing how miserable she looked sitting there, apart from the two astronomers. Jack knew that the discovery of the threat that Melody's Comet posed to Earth had really shaken her, so, as he brought her over, he took the opportunity to have a few words with her.

"Melody - I know the last day has been pretty rough on you. But I - we - need your help. You want to be a scientist - an astronomer. Well, as far as I'm concerned, you became one the second you found that comet. Now, you can continue to sit there and feel sorry for yourself - or you can start acting like the professional astronomer that I know you are, and come help Elena and I."

Melody looked up into Jack's intense, silvery gray eyes, takes a deep breath, and nods. "Okay, Dr. Hawthorne. You're right. How can I help?"

Jack smiles down at her. "You brought your laptop and PADD?" Melody nods. "Good. You'll need both. We have a lot of data to cover. And it's Jack. Let's drop all the "doctor" nonsense."

Melody stands up, grabbing her laptop case and PADD. "Okay - Jack," she says with a small smile.

"That's better," Jack says. "Come on." Together they walk back to the table where Elena Roshenko was working. "Have you met Elena?" Melody shakes her head.

Elena Roshenko stands up, smiling. "Hello, Melody. Jack's told me nothing but good things about you. And what he said goes for me too. I'm Elena."

Melody blushes slightly as she says, "My pleasure, Elena. It's an honor. I've always admired your work."

The three sit down at the table. "Why, thank you, Melody," Elena says. "I have to admit, I'm more than a bit envious. I've never discovered a comet!" At this, Melody blushes even more, as Jack catches Elena's eye and mouths "Thank you."

"Okay," Jack says briskly, "Now where were we?" Soon, the three are deep in conversation, continually referring to the data on their laptops.

Now, as the wait stretches on, all three look up hopefully as the door to the lounge opens, and Melody gasps in surprise as Lieutenant Charles Smith strides into the room carrying a flight bag and garment bag, a Rear Admiral in step with him.

All three stand up as the two officers approach. Melody feels her breath catch in her throat a little at the unexpected sight of Charles. She looks at him quizzically and he gives her an "I'll explain everything" look in return.

The Admiral, a slim man of medium build with close cropped black hair, extended his hand to Jack Hawthorne.

"Dr. Hawthorne? Admiral Quentin Mason, Joint Base Operations. I believe we've met before."

"Of course, Admiral. Nice to see you again, sir." Jack replied, shaking the offered hand. _Maybe now we'll get the show on the road,_ he thinks.

"The boss extends his apologies for the delay. We've decided to send Lieutenant Smith along as liaison. He'll be there to help in any way needed. Your hoverplane should be ready for boarding any time."

"His help will certainly be appreciated," Jack says with a smile, shaking Charles Smith's hand. "And these are my associates, Dr. Elena Roshenko and Melody Temple."

"My pleasure, Doctor," Admiral Mason says, shaking Elena's hand. "And to you as well, Dr. Temple."

Melody blushes as she takes Mason's hand. "Actually, I'm in my doctorate program now, Admiral," she says. _And it's doubtful I'll finish,_ she adds to herself bitterly.

"Well -" Mason says, awkwardly, then "But I believe you're acquainted with Lieutenant Smith?"

"I am, sir," Melody says quietly, smiling at Charles.

Mason quickly introduces Charles to Jack and Elena. Then, a young officer enters the lounge.

"Excuse me, Admiral. The aircraft is ready, sir." he says.

"Well, that's it. Ladies and gentlemen, have a safe and productive trip," Mason says, then draws Charles Smith off to one side. "Take care of her, Smith," he says.

"Thank you, sir - for sending me along," Charles replies.

"Who am I to stand in the way of young love?" Admiral Mason says with a smile. "Besides, us Montana boys have to watch out for each other!" With that, Charles and Mason exchange salutes and handshakes, and then the group is led out of the lounge and onto the flight line, where a sleek hoverplane sits, waiting for them.

"You're from Montana?" Melody asks Charles as they walk to the waiting hoverplane.

"Yep. Whitefish. Admiral's from Missoula. His family is in logging. You'd never know it to look at him, but he used to be a competitive ax thrower when he was younger." Charles says.

Melody laughs and together she and Charles follow Jack and Elena into the hoverplane.

**THE CABINET ROOM - WEST WING, THE WHITE HOUSE - 8:00 A.M., FRIDAY, JANUARY 3RD, 2070**

"Dim the lights, please," Jack Hawthorne says, and pauses as the lights dim. Turning, he surveys the room. At the antique mahogany table sits the most influential, powerful group of people in the world. Seated in chairs lining the walls were more "power players." Jack, always perfectly at home in the world of academia, felt slightly light headed as he prepared to present the end of the world to the assembled group.

_Relax,_ he says to himself. _You're just teaching an astronomy class - to the friggin' President of the United States!_

"Dr. Hawthorne?" President Janice York's voice cuts through his reverie. "We're ready."

"Of course, Madam President," Jack says firmly. He taps his PADD and the large view screen on the wall comes to life. A surprisingly sharp image appears on the screen, showing a battered, oblong object against a black background.

"Madam President, ladies and gentlemen, Comet C/2070-01/MT-PAN-STARRS," Jack says, indicating the object with a laser pointer. "These images were captured by the Tyson Orbiting Observatory less than four hours ago. We had to get creative and use some pretty unusual light wavelengths to penetrate the coma."

"It looks like a potato," says a voice from the table that Jack couldn't identify. The room ripples with nervous laughter.

"This is a very unusual potato," Jack says, relaxing a bit. "Its long axis is seventeen kilometers in length. At its widest, here," Jack indicates with the pointer, "it measures ten kilometers. It's made mostly of rock, bound together by ordinary water ice, frozen carbon dioxide - dry ice - ammonia, methane, carbon monoxide, hydrogen cyanide, methanol, and trace metals like iron and iridium. Spectral analysis indicates that this is an Oort cloud body," he taps his PADD and the image changes, showing the Oort cloud, "on a hyperbolic orbit, and by the amount of volatile elements sublimating off its surface already, making its first trip to the inner solar system. But, analysis of the Tyson images show something totally unexpected." He taps his PADD again and the image shifts, showing the comet, accompanied by another body.

"At first glance we thought that this was a piece of the comet, 'calved' from the original. Then we thought that maybe this was a dual comet pair - something that we've never seen. But, after spectral analysis, we've determined that this other body is, in fact, an asteroid - and a fairly dense one at that. The comet and the asteroid appear to be orbiting each other around a common center of gravity. This asteroid, as yet unnamed, measures about four kilometers in length by about two and a half kilometers wide."

Jack pauses again and drank some water. As he set the glass down, Janice York asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

"Dr. Hawthorne, in your opinion, will this thing hit us?"

"Yes," Jack answers firmly, ignoring the shocked gasps and murmurs from the assembled group. "No doubt in my mind."

"But - but - how can you be so sure? I mean, it's just your opinion. You could be wrong..." a voice from the table says. Jack identifies the owner as the Secretary of the Homeland Security Department.

"Allow me, Jack," Elena Roshenko says, standing up. "Madam President, ladies and gentlemen, I can answer Secretary Miller's question. I'm Dr. Elena Roshenko, Director of the Mauna Kea Observatory. No, Mr. Secretary, it's not an opinion. Dr. Hawthorne prudently asked for my analysis when the comet was discovered. My conclusions matched his. Still, both of us asked colleagues at our respective observatories to cross check our work and they came to the same conclusion as we did. Finally, we requested independent analysis from the IAU - and their calculations matched ours. It's a fact. We will be hit. In fact, further analysis has been able to determine that the strike - or strikes - will occur in the Northern Hemisphere."

"Strikes? As in more than one?" Janice York asks, alarmed.

"There are two bodies that we're dealing with now, Madam President. Plus, comets are unstable. There's a very good chance that this one will calve - or even break up entirely - as it gets closer to Earth. Anyone ever hear of Shoemaker-Levy 9?" Jack asks the assembled group. There were a few murmurs of assent. Jack taps a few keys on his PADD and an animated simulation appears on the screen.

"In 1993, astronomers Eugene and Carole Shoemaker, along with astronomer David Levy, discovered a comet in orbit around the planet Jupiter. Jupiter's gravity broke this comet apart into twenty-two separate pieces. From July 16th thru July 22nd, 1994, twenty two separate impacts were recorded on Jupiter's Southern hemisphere." The simulation shows each impact as it occurred with resulting fireballs and dark atmospheric scarring. "The dark spots were visible in the atmosphere for months afterwards. The largest impact was estimated to release energy equivalent to six million megatons of TNT. All this from a comet whose original nucleus was less than one third the size of our comet."

The room was totally silent for long seconds, then the President asked, "What can we expect in the way of damage if this hits us?"

Jack takes a deep breath before continuing. "If the comet remains intact, and strikes the ocean, it will create a crater almost 200 kilometers across. No matter what ocean it comes down in, it will generate a mega-tsunami that will affect virtually every coastline in the world. Total destruction within 1000 kilometers of impact. Incalculable amounts of sea water would be vaporized, resulting in world wide torrential rains for weeks or even months after impact. Vast quantities of dust will be thrown up high in the atmosphere, causing a "nuclear winter" effect that will most likely last for years afterwards."

"If the comet breaks up into smaller fragments, expect tsunamis somewhat larger than the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami that killed a quarter of a million people. Land strikes forming craters 14 to 16 kilometers in diameter. Massive disruption of global weather patterns." Jack paused again before continuing.

"As far as the asteroid is concerned, a land impact asteroid will create a crater 80 to 90 kilometers across and will cause almost total destruction in a 160 kilometer radius and significant destruction in a 650 kilometer radius. Shallow water tsunami 650 kilometers away will create waves 12 to 25 meters high. 160 kilometers from impact tsunamis will be 150 to 300 meters high. Deep water tsunamis could be as high as 100 meters 5000 kilometers from impact."

The Secretary of Defense finally speaks. "What can we do to stop it?" he asks.

"Mr. Secretary, absolutely nothing. Every contingency we have in place for deflecting a Near Earth Object assumes that we have one item in abundance - time. We have six months. We can't blow it up, contrary to what some popular movies from the last century would have you believe, and there's not enough time to deflect it. The only measures we can take are passive - evacuating coastal regions for at least 200 kilometers inland, for example."

More silence, then another voice says two words. "Holy shit."

"My sentiments exactly," Janice York says. "Dr. Hawthorne, Dr. Roshenko, Ms. Temple, Lieutenant Smith - thank you for your time. I'm sure this won't be the only time we meet. Ladies and gentlemen, let's get to work with the knowledge that we have. We need to bring the U.N. in on this as well. We have a world to save."

"What the hell is this thing called again?" The Secretary of Defense asks.

Before Jack or Elena could answer, another voice - this one from Tom Jackson, who had been silent during the presentation, spoke up.

"The IAU designation doesn't matter. This comet had a name the second it started to fall towards the inner solar system." He pauses for a moment and clears his throat.

"Shiva. The Destroyer."

**A/N - I borrowed a bit of technology from the "Star Trek" universe, in giving my characters the PADD (Personal Access Display Device), basically a souped up version of a modern day IPAD. Hopefully as I progress in the story I'll be able to leave science jargon behind and concentrate more on the story. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**JET PROPULSION LABORATORY, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA - 10:00 A.M., FRIDAY, APRIL 4TH, 2070 - THREE MONTHS TO SHIVA**

Dr. Henry Mitchell, Director of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) Jet Propulsion Laboratory - commonly referred to simply as JPL - studied the images on the view screen thoughtfully. The images showed two irregularly shaped objects. Bright jets spewed from the larger of the two.

Henry tapped commands into the keyboard in front of him, rotating the objects on the view screen. Leaning back in his chair, he taps another command into the keyboard and waits for confirmation from the computer.

"Voice command confirmed," a female voice says, emanating from the computer.

"Display grid," Henry orders, and a red grid appears above the two objects.

"Zoom on Shiva," Henry orders again, and the larger of the two objects increases in size until the other object disappears from view. Henry hears the door behind him open, then close. He doesn't turn around.

Three figures enter the room. The tallest, a well built man with black hair, olive skin, and striking gray eyes, sets a coffee cup in front of Henry, then takes a seat next to him. The other two, a short, unremarkable looking man in his late twenties with wiry red hair, wears the uniform of a Naval officer. He and his companion, a striking - even beautiful - young woman, slightly younger, with long dark hair, take seats on the opposite side of the table.

"Yaw 120 degrees west to east, pitch down 90 degrees," Henry says, and watches as the image on the view screen shifts to a different angle.

"Suspend voice," Henry says, then turns to the man sitting next to him. "Good thing its rotation is so erratic, Jack. We've got pictures of over ninety percent of its surface."

Jack Hawthorne nods, then asks, "What about the asteroid?"

"Mjolnir? About the same," Henry replies, then adds, "Not that it'll do us any good."

Jack shakes his head, chuckling. "I'm still trying to figure out who decided to let that Norwegian astronomer name the asteroid. I mean, come on - 'Mjolnir?' No one can pronounce it correctly."

"The media, Jack," Henry replies. "Once they found out that 'Mjolnir' meant 'Thor's Hammer,' it stuck. Pretty appropriate names for both, I would say." Henry turns to the couple sitting across from him. "I hear congratulations are in order. When's the big day?"

"Thank you, Dr. Mitchell," Lieutenant Commander Charles Smith says. He turns toward the woman and squeezes her hand affectionately. "Next Saturday. We decided on a civil ceremony. Not really any time for anything - more extravagant. You'll be there?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Henry says, smiling. "And I see the promotion came through?"

"Effective Monday," Charles says. "VOP. Verbal Order of the President."

"Well, she is the Commander in Chief after all," Henry says with a smile.

"Charles is the first in his class to make Lieutenant Commander," Melody Temple says with quiet pride, squeezing her fiancés hand with a smile.

_And probably the last, _Is the thought that goes through everyone's head sitting at the table, but the thought remains unspoken.

"So, anything new?" Jack asks.

"Nada." Henry answers, then says, "Resume voice. Roll 180 degrees. Pitch up 90 degrees." They watch the image on the screen change to a new perspective. "These are the most recent photos taken by Tyson - as of four hours ago."

"Is York still stuck on the idea of shooting a nuke at this thing?" Jack asks. Henry nods his head grimly.

"At least we've managed to convince her not to try to blow it up, like those stupid movies from late last century tried to do with their own killer comets and asteroids. So now the plan is to detonate a series of high yield thermonuclear devices along the orbital paths of both Shiva and Mjolnir, in the hope that the shock waves from each blast are able to transfer sufficient negative delta vee to the comet and asteroid, slowing both down just enough to miss the Earth."

"Will it work?" Melody asks. Henry shrugs his shoulders.

"If we had years instead of months to work with, I'd say yes, we'd have a good chance," Henry says. "As it is right now, we just don't have the time to make this work. Oh, we'll probably alter their velocities somewhat - just not enough to make them miss. All we'll probably do is make them hit somewhere else in the Northern Hemisphere."

"Then why bother?" Melody asks, somewhat bitterly.

"She's the President, love," Charles replies gently. "She has to do something. And this option carries the least risk."

"Exactly right, Commander," Henry says. "Only it's not just her. This is a U.N. effort."

"Isn't she supposed to be meeting today?" Jack asks. "Jackson said something about a cabinet level meeting. He's supposed to call and bring us up to speed when it's done."

"Should be happening right now, in fact," Henry confirms.

**THE CABINET ROOM, WEST WING, THE WHITE HOUSE - 1:30 P.M., FRIDAY, APRIL 4TH, 2070**

"General Cresta, are you ready?" Janice York asks.

"Yes, Madam President," Major General Paul Cresta, USMC (Retired), former Assistant Secretary and now full Secretary for Homeland Security, stands up and begins to speak in a soft, well modulated Louisiana drawl.

"Item number one. Coastal evacuations." He taps his PADD and the view screen displays a geographic map of the continental United States, along with Alaska and Hawaii. "The first overlay, developed with the assistance of Dr. Jackson and the Office of Science and Technology Policy, displays our best projections for the extent of mega-tsunami effects on all United States coastlines." He taps his PADD and an overlay appears over the displayed maps.

There's a muted gasp in the room as the mega-tsunami projections are displayed. Using a laser pointer, Cresta highlights the map and overlays as he speaks.

"As you can see, a Pacific strike can be expected to produce mega-tsunamis that will reach as far inland as the Sierra Nevada mountains in California, all the way up to the Cascades in Oregon and Washington State. An Atlantic strike will produce mega-tsunamis that will penetrate right up to the Appalachians. A strike in the Gulf of Mexico will reach much farther inland, as there are no significant geographic features to stop or slow the advance of water. Low lying areas, such as the Gulf Coast, the Atlantic Seaboard, and the State of Florida, can be expected to be completely inundated by these mega-tsunamis." Cresta pauses for a moment and taps his PADD, changing the view to show mega-tsunami effects on Hawaii and Alaska.

"Excuse me, General - did you say 'the State of Florida?'" The slightly tremulous voice belonged to the Secretary of Agriculture, who's hometown was Tampa.

"I did, Madam Secretary," General Cresta, ever polite, replied. "You all have to understand that these projections are absolute worst case scenarios. We're basing the tsunami penetration on the assumption that Shiva falls, intact, into either the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans. There are numerous variables, depending on whether the comet impacts as a single intact body or breaks apart -"

"Calves," Thomas Jackson interjects.

" - Calves - thank you, Dr. Jackson - into smaller bodies. So we can be dealing with mega-tsunamis three to five hundred meters in height - or even bigger - or we may get tsunamis on the seven to twenty five meter range...still destructive, but only capable of penetrating inland for, say, ten to twenty kilometers. Where the impact occurs is important as well. Deep water impacts will generate much larger tsunamis that shallow water impacts."

"What about Thor's Hammer, General?" asks a new voice, this one belonging to Alexander Cray, Vice President of the United States, and former U.S. Senator and Governor of New Mexico. "Can we expect the Hammer to 'calve?'"

"I'll take this one, Paul," Thomas Jackson says quietly as he stands up. "Mr. Vice President, a comet calves because it's an inherently unstable body. Comets have been famously described as 'dirty snowballs,' and that isn't too far from the truth. Comets are basically a fairly loose collection of dirt, rocks, some metals, and carbon rich compounds held together by a variety of frozen chemicals such as water ice, dry ice - frozen carbon dioxide - frozen carbon monoxide, and other, more exotic compounds. An asteroid, on the other hand, is a solid mass of rock and metal. When Mjolnir hits, it will do so as a solid mass."

"I...see. Thank you, Tom," Cray says quietly. A large man with a full head of hair gone prematurely gray, Alexander Cray thoughtfully taps a few keys on his PADD and glances over at Janice York, meeting her gaze momentarily before both returned their attentions to the briefing.

"The next slide shows mega-tsunami effects on Hawaii and Alaska," Cresta continues smoothly. "As you can see, the effects are similar to those on the Continental U.S. Dr. Jackson, would you like to continue with the next part of the briefing?"

Tom Jackson stands up. "Thank you, Paul." He taps his PADD and a familiar image is projected onto the screen. "Meteor Crater, also known as Barringer Crater, in Arizona. This impact feature is twelve hundred meters in diameter and one hundred seventy meters deep. It was formed about fifty thousand years ago by the impact of a nickel-iron asteroid about fifty meters across, traveling at a velocity of about thirteen kilometers a second. Please note that this is about twenty five percent of the projected impact velocity of Shiva-Mjolnir." Tom pauses for a moment, takes a sip of water, and continues.

"The explosive energy released by that impact was roughly equal to that of a two to three megaton nuclear device. The thermal pulse and shock wave generated by this impact would have been one hundred percent lethal out to about thirty five kilometers, with blast and thermal effects reaching out to about one hundred sixty kilometers. And this is from an asteroid a fraction of the size of Shiva-Mjolnir. Ladies and gentlemen, I know that we've presented similar information to you in past briefings, but Paul and I both felt that we needed to give you some grasp of the scale at what we're dealing with here." Tom surveyed the room for questions, found none, then sat back down, nodding at Paul Cresta.

"Thanks, Tom. Madam President, ladies and gentlemen, we've made great strides over the last three months in establishing refugee camps away from the projected tsunami zones. FEMA has been working tirelessly at trying to anticipate every possible contingency. For the next part of the briefing, Brad Cartwright will bring you all up to date on our latest preparations."

"Thank you, General," Bradley "Brad" Cartwright says, stepping forward. A blonde, studious looking man in his early forties, Brad Cartwright had worked his entire adult life with the Federal Emergency Management Agency, rising to head the department during the current administration.

Tapping his PADD, the map of the U.S. appeared again, with a new overlay. "This overlay indicates the location of both existing and projected FEMA refugee camps. Depending on location, topography, and population density, each camp is constructed to hold anywhere from ten to one hundred thousand people. All of these camps are being located well inland from even the worst mega-tsunami predictions. For people that live inland, away from the tsunami zones, we are encouraging stockpiling consumables of all kinds. However, we are running into problems."

"Food shortages?" Janice York asks. Brad nods, his face a serious mask.

"Yes, Madam President. That, plus the fact that evacuations are far from orderly. And, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, there are just too many people that refuse to believe what they can't yet see with the naked eye!"

"There's two other issues, Madam President," a new voice speaks up. Janice York turned to face the new speaker - the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"Admiral," Janice says, "Pardon me, Mr. Cartwright, for just a moment. You have some up to date figures to report, Admiral?"

The Chairman stands up. "Per your request, Madam President. On issue number one, redeployment - we've run into several snags - primarily on sea and airlift capability. We've had forces deployed in Europe and Asia for well over a century and forces in the Middle East since the 1990's. We've been running our redeployment efforts at one hundred percent for over two months and we've still only redeployed only about eighty five percent of the forces we had hoped to by this time."

"Along with that, there's another point," The Secretary of State speaks up. "Admiral...Mr. Cartwright, my apologies. Madam President, our allies in Europe, Asia and the Middle East are still quite - vexed - at us pulling our forces out and sending them home. They keep reminding us of our treaty obligations and have been, shall we say, less than cooperative with us, and in some cases have actively denied us the use of port facilities, railheads, and airfields."

Janice York's face clouded over in anger at this news. Her hair showed considerably more gray than it had just three short months ago. To the group assembled here in the Cabinet Room, it appears that she's aged ten years in the last three months.

"Treaty obligations?" she spits, her voice trembling with rage. "TREATY OBLIGATIONS?" Suddenly she slams her hand down on the table, causing everyone present to jump. She turns to the Secretary of State. "Leonard, inform our 'allies' that redeployments will continue, that their full cooperation is expected, and that anything less will be considered an act of aggression on their part." She then turns to the Chairman. "Admiral, I assume that our forces have used considerable restraint in dealing with our 'allies?'"

"Correct, Madam President," the Admiral replies.

"Admiral, please inform our forces that I am, as of today, authorizing them to use _whatever force necessary _that local commanders deem necessary in order to accomplish redeployment as expeditiously as possible, up to and including the use of force. And, if our 'allies' fire on our forces, our forces are authorized to return fire to eliminate any threats. Clear?"

"Crystal clear, Madam President," the Admiral replies with a grin, tapping furiously on his PADD.

"I am so fucking sick and tired of our 'allies' thinking that the good old U.S. of A. is gonna bail their asses out of the end of the freakin' world!" Janice snaps, venom in her voice.

"Madam President," the Admiral says gently, "We'll take care of redeployment. But there is another issue - desertions."

"What are the latest figures?" Janice asks, regaining her composure.

"Service-wide, just under ten percent. Depending on service branch, type of unit, and geographic location, figures range from a low of one to two percent to a high of thirty percent." The Admiral looks up from his PADD.

"Desertions are beginning to affect individual unit effectiveness, not to mention morale, Madam President," The Secretary of Defense says.

"Mike," Janice says, addressing the Secretary of Defense, "How effective have measures been to return deserters to their units? And how much more bleeding can our forces take before they simply aren't effective to do anything to assist with our current impact countermeasures?"

"A month at outside, Madam President," the Secretary of Defense replies, "And the closer we get to July 4th the more military assistance will be required."

Janice sighs heavily, rubbing her face with her hands before replying. "Okay. I really was hoping that it wouldn't come to this, but I don't see any other option." Janice turns to her Chief of Staff. "Dan, get with the Press office and Communications and prepare the following statement: Effective today, all military deserters will be given a one week amnesty period where they can return to their units without threat of punishment. After the amnesty period is over, all, and I mean _all_ verified deserters will be executed for cowardice in the face of danger. They will be tried by General Courts Martial as per the current Uniform Code of Military Justice and execution of sentence will be carried out immediately upon return of a guilty verdict."

For long seconds there was shocked silence at the table, then the voice of the Speaker of the House said what was on everyone's mind.

"Madam President, you can't order summary executions. What about congressional approval for such a drastic action? What about the Supreme Court?"

"Listen to me, all of you," Janice says in a tightly controlled voice. "In three months, millions - no, _billions_ of people will be dead. I'm doing whatever I can to save as many American lives as possible. Every single person we have serving in uniform will be vital for us to reach that goal. I'm giving those that ran one week to come back, no questions asked. After that, they take their chances. Any questions? No? Dan, you got everything?"

"On it, Madam President," Daniel Crane says, tapping on his PADD.

"Admiral, Mike - anything else?" Both the Chairman and the Secretary of Defense shake their heads. "Alright, then - Mr. Cartwright, please proceed."

Brad Cartwright stands up. "Yes, thank you, Madam President. I would like to take a little time addressing projected food shortages and infrastructure collapse. Current estimates predict nationwide food shortages to become acute three to seven days following impact. The U.S. Grain Reserve can expect to be depleted by Impact plus -"

**NASA JPL, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA - 2:00 P.M., FRIDAY, APRIL 4TH, 2070**

Henry Mitchell stares at the computer screen for long seconds following the end of his video conference with Tom Jackson. Off to the side, Melody Temple and Charles Smith sit in what can only be described as stunned silence. Jack Hawthorne, sitting next to Henry, finally breaks the silence, voicing exactly how the other three feel.

"Holy shit. Executions - for _desertion_?"

Charles Smith clears his throat before speaking. "Actually, Jack, I'm not at all surprised. Every emergency plan that the administration has come up with depends heavily on the military...and when units can no longer function because of mass desertions, it was only a matter of time before such an order was given."

"So you approve?" Henry asks coldly.

"I understand. And something drastic had to be done. But that doesn't mean I approve." Charles says evenly. Henry opens his mouth to say something but the insistent buzz of his desk intercom leaves his next words unsaid.

Henry taps the intercom button. "Yes?"

"The Malarkeys are here, Henry. Send them in?"

"Yes, Summer. Thanks." Henry taps the button and looks at the other three. "Our storm chasers are here. Not a word about what the President plans to do about the current military retention problem."

Two sharp raps on the door are followed by the door swinging open to reveal the two newcomers. David and Blair Malarkey, two noted extreme weather meteorologists, had come at Henry's invitation to become part of what Jack Hawthorne was privately calling "The Brain Trust" - a diverse group that had been examining the potential long term effects of catastrophic impacts.

Although young - both were just thirty years of age - David and Blair were both considered experts in their field and had developed reputations for storm chasing. Whether deploying instrument packages in the path of a tornado in Oklahoma, to flying into the eye of a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, they had been both praised and damned for their "hands on" approach to gathering data. Married right out of college, the couple as yet had no children.

"Dr. Mitchell? Dave Malarkey - and my partner...and wife - Blair," David shook Henry's hand firmly. Medium height, with dark blonde hair and a strong build from all the field work, Henry had to admit that his first impression was a good one. Blair seemed to be cut from the same mold - blonde, strong and fit, although her skin was considerably fairer.

"A pleasure, both of you," Henry says as he makes introductions with the others in the room. "You've had time to review the data we've sent?"

"We have. Do you have a conference room we can set up in? Little cramped in here," Dave says.

Henry motions to a side door. "Right this way." The group files out of the office to a small adjoining conference room, where they all sit around a rectangular table.

Dave begins his presentation. "First of all, on behalf of Blair and myself, it is a true privilege to be working on this project and I hope that our contributions will be able to help."

"This is just part of our working group," Henry explains. "We also have a shrink - Morgan Boggs - working on post-impact personality profiles and projections. There are others - doctors with CDC to project what sort of epidemics we'll face post-impact, engineers looking at infrastructure collapse - that sort of thing. But one of the biggest issues that we'll have to deal with will be post-impact weather."

"Exactly," Blair says, speaking for the first time. "The focus has been on the impact or impacts and the immediate aftermath - mega-tsunamis, earthquakes, and of course blast damage and firestorms. But very little has been said about long term effects."

"I touched a little on weather effects following impact during my brief to the President and Cabinet," Jack says, "But I'm no meteorologist. Expert opinion would be most welcome."

"Gladly," Dave Malarkey says. "Okay, you talked about rain, correct?" Jack nods. "From what I understand, the likelihood of ocean strikes is pretty high. And, whether Shiva comes down as a solid mass or breaks up, it'll be coming in fast. Correct?"

"Over fifty kilometers a second," Melody Temple speaks up for the first time.

"Okay, so, even if it does fragment into pieces say, one to two kilometers across, these chunks will still have a lot of momentum when they hit the water," Dave says.

"They'll certainly crater the ocean floor - even if they hit in the deepest ocean trenches," Henry says.

"And each impact will create a crater - lots of kinetic energy which turns into heat...a lot of heat...upon impact, even last well into post-impact. Depending on fragment size and water depth, we may even be looking at holes in the ocean itself," Blair adds.

"Wait a minute. Literal 'holes' in the ocean?" Charles asks, frowning in puzzlement.

"Exactly," says Dave. "Like a bathtub drain only on an infinitely larger scale. Imagine this - a two kilometer chunk of rock and ice slams into the Pacific, say about six hundred fifty kilometers due West of Santa Barbara. The ocean there is about nine hundred meters deep. Even through all that water the impact will gouge a huge crater in the ocean floor that will be hot for days afterward - and when I say hot, I mean magma hot. This crater will be on the magnitude of twenty five kilometers across and the impact will instantly vaporize billions of tons of seawater, not to mention causing nice twenty to twenty five meter tsunamis that will visit Santa Barbara, oh, about an hour after impact."

"In the meantime," Blair picks up the presentation, "The ocean has been violently displaced - pushed aside, if you will - by the impact. The water will try to rush back in to fill the void but instead that water will be vaporized by the incredible heat from the crater. All that water vapor has to go somewhere - and with that hot spot sitting on the ocean floor, coupled with unbelievable amounts of water vapor - well, what you have is a hurricane generator."

"This one crater will spin off hurricane after hurricane for days after the impact - until the crater finally cools enough to allow the water to rush back in a fill the void - which, in turn, will spawn more tsunamis," Dave finishes.

"Hurricanes in Southern California," Henry mutters.

"Yes - several, in fact. One right after the other - possibly for two weeks or more after the impact. And that's just one crater." Blair says.

"The rains will most likely continue for weeks or even months after impact. The entire planet will be virtually hidden under a blanket of clouds. This will have the effect of significantly lowering global temperatures - that and all the dust and debris thrown into the stratosphere. Remember the Arctic sea ice and how it disappeared? Well, it's coming back." Dave pauses to take a sip of water.

"An ice age?" Jack asks, barely able to mute the horror in his voice.

"Not a true glacial period. It won't last more than, say, three or four years," Blair says. "And remember, the rains will more than offset any lowering of sea levels due to Arctic ice buildup."

"Here's another immediate effect of post-impact rainfall. Infrastructure collapse. Dams will fail, weakened by impact spawned quakes and the influx of new water. Failing dams will cause widespread flooding. Bridges will fail also, severing lines of communication and transportation. Road networks will be washed away. Crops - there will be world wide crop failure, and the world won't see anything resembling a normal growing season for any kind of crop for several years. Power generation - hydroelectric plants will most likely be destroyed by dam failures. Extreme weather will most likely damage wind turbine farms beyond repair. Any solar farms that survive the wild weather will only be able to operate at a fraction of their efficiency due to the sun being obscured for weeks on end by clouds. Nuclear plants offer the best chance of continued operation, but those are few and far between." Dave pauses and surveys the shocked faces before him.

"We didn't even touch seismic and/or volcanic events," Blair says, "But we can't rule out the possibility that if strikes occur on or near unstable fault lines or dormant volcanic features, that these strikes may trigger earthquakes and/or volcanic eruptions. Of course, I'm a meteorologist with some training in civil engineering, not a seismologist, volcanologist , or even a geologist. By the way, do we have any of those on this team?"

"Frank Donner," Henry says. "He's with the U.S. Geological Survey. Top man in his field, an authority on seismology. He's in Colorado Springs right now, but he'll be coming here on Monday."

"I've heard of him," Dave says. "And this shrink - Boggs?"

"He'll be here on Monday as well," Jack says.

"We have a video conference scheduled for Monday - the Brain Trust will be briefing the President along with the Cabinet and some other key players. We have the weekend to work out our end of the brief. Hopefully Boggs and Donner get here early enough to give us an overview before the brief starts," Henry says worriedly.

"It'll come together, don't worry," Jack says reassuringly. "In the meantime, let's bring the Malarkeys up to speed on our end of this."

"Great idea," Dave says, "But can we do it over, say, a late lunch or an early dinner? I'm starved."

"Same here," Blair says, smiling at her husband.

"In that case - do you folks like Thai food?" Henry asks with a grin.

**PRESIDENTIAL QUARTERS, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C. - 11:00 P.M., FRIDAY, APRIL 4TH, 2070**

Janice York cuddled in close to her husband, her ear pressed to his chest, listening to the strong thrum of his heartbeat. His shorts and her nightgown lay in crumpled heaps at the foot of the bed, and the sheets and blankets were tangled about their legs.

They lay without speaking for long minutes, basking in passion's afterglow. Ed was the first to speak.

"You did the right thing today," he says softly. Jan turns her head and looks up at him.

"I hope so," she replies. "I just hope that it was the right decision. Ed, you know as well as I do that it's gonna look a whole lot different the first time some terrified nineteen year old private first class is lashed to a post to face a firing squad."

"There was an informal poll taken of our military today. Over ninety percent think it was the correct decision," Ed says.

"It's that ten percent that I'm worried about," Jan says with a sigh. "I really don't know why I'm getting all worked up over this. I'm making decisions every day that will impact all four hundred thirty four million Americans, and still some people can't see the friggin' forest for the trees. You know what Energy said to me today?"

"What's that, love?" Ed says sleepily.

"Our esteemed Secretary of Energy, the esteemed Katrina Drucker-Fain, came to report to me that the world is now officially carbon neutral and that we've finally been able to reduce our carbon emissions to the point where we aren't adding any greenhouse gases to our atmosphere."

Ed chuckled. "So what did you say?"

"I said, 'Good job, Katrina'...then went into the Oval Office and signed the Executive Order authorizing the military to execute deserters," Jan replies bitterly.

In response Ed hugs his wife - and his President - closer to him.

"I'm thinking about sending the kids to Mont-Laurier," Janice says softly.

"Oh?" Ed replies. "To your Aunt and Uncles place?"

"The kids love it there - and plus, they should be - I mean, it's not close to any coastline, and -" Janice stammers.

"So's Colorado Springs," Ed says reasonably. "And the kids won't have to worry about speaking French at Cheyenne Mountain."

"Cheyenne Mountain won't be any place for kids," Janice says just as reasonably. "And both the kids speak pretty damn good conversational French."

"Well, what about Huntington, then?" Ed asks.

"Call it a...hunch. A feeling, Ed. I just think the kids will be safer in Dolbeau."

Ed shakes his head resignedly. "Quebec. Of all places. When do you plan on doing this?"

"June. When school lets out. That still gives us almost three weeks before..." Jan lets the remainder of her thought go unsaid. In response, Ed pulls her closer to him.

"What does your uncle do again?" Ed asks.

"He works for Timcal Canada," Jan replies sleepily.

"Oh. That's right. Graphite mining." Ed mumbles as he pulls his wife closer to him. In spite of the incredible pressure of the last three months, and the difficult decisions of the day, she had fallen quickly into an exhausted slumber.

"Graphite mining," Ed repeats. "Hell of a place for my kids to grow up in."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4 - PREPPING**

**JUST OUTSIDE FALCON, COLORADO - 4:00 A.M., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 4TH, 2070 - ONE MONTH TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR**

The man stood outside in the pre-dawn chill, staring up at the sky. The crescent moon had set a few hours before, but the sky was brightly illuminated nonetheless. Hovering over the horizon where the sun would soon be rising in a couple of hours, Comet Shiva glowed brightly, its tail curving skyward in a magnificent, glittering arc. Absently the man reached down with his left hand, finding the dog's head with his fingers and scratching just behind the ear. The dog's tail thumped against the ground in pleasure. The man's right hand rested casually on the butt of a pistol secured in a holster at his waist.

Although he couldn't see it from his vantage point, the man knew that nearby Cheyenne Mountain had been the frantic hub of activity over the last few months. Even now, the government was continuing with their preparations for The End. That's what the media had taken to calling the imminent impact of the Comet Shiva and its asteroid companion, Mjolnir - The End. In a few weeks, the U.S. Government would effectively relocate from Washington, D.C. to the Cheyenne Mountain complex just outside Colorado Springs. Efforts to keep this move and the preparations involved secret had failed miserably. Now, in addition to the influx of military and government workers, all of El Paso County had been dealing with what the man thought of as "pre-refugees" - people from coastal areas that had fled inland, as well as other that decided to throw their lot in with wherever the Feds had decided to take up residence.

The man sighed heavily, his breath forming a cloud in front of his face in the chill air - unusual for early June. The man and his family had settled here years ago as part of a loose collection of fellow "Preppers" - people that were devoted to a lifestyle of preparing for any number of natural or man-made disasters. The small group had purchased plots of land outside Falcon and had taken to calling their little society "The Enclave." And, aside from a minor media stir a few years ago, the had managed to live in relative anonymity - until recently.

First, the news of the impending Shiva/Mjolnir impacts had kindled new interest in what the media called "Doomsday Prepping." And along with that interest came people interested in the people that already followed that lifestyle - at first just media types, but then more and more of these "pre-refugees" started showing up, thinking that maybe hanging close to someone with emergency stockpiles may just be a good idea. Now, it's gotten so bad that the man doesn't dare walk outside of his own compound without being armed, in spite of the increased police and military presence in the area.

The man hears the dog whine low in its throat and he tenses for a moment, tightening the grip on the butt of the pistol as his ears pick up the sound of soft footsteps coming up from behind. He feels the dog relax and he relaxes as well - if it was an intruder the dog would have sounded a very loud vocal alarm long before. The man just doesn't bring the dog out with him on his nightly walks for company alone.

A woman quietly steps up to the man's side, wordlessly handing him a steaming cup of coffee. Murmuring his thanks, the man removes his hand from the dog's head and takes the cup. His right hand never strays from the weapon at his side. Glancing at the woman standing at his side, he notices with approval the stubby outline of an Armalite "Stinger" carbine slung across her back. She's learned as well not to walk outside the compound unarmed.

"Up early again," the woman says quietly.

"I'll sleep better once that thing hits us and is done with it," the man replies.

"Bobby, you've done everything humanly possible to get ready for something like this!" the woman says. "Remember when we first moved here - how people laughed at us? Listen - I don't hear anyone laughing now!"

The man - Bobby - casually slips his arm around the woman's waist. "I know," he sighs. "We've been off the grid for years. Solar cells and wind turbine for power. Hydrogen fueled generator as backup. Well water. Enough canned, dry and dehydrated food to feed all of us for two years. We raise chickens, rabbits, and goats. We grow our own vegetables. The Compound -" he indicates the shadowy structure behind them "- is like a fortress and totally defendable. Two like minded neighbors that we can call on for help if we need it. But I still feel like I missed _something_!"

The woman tightened her arm around his waist. "Stop worrying. You didn't -" A sudden low growl from the dog silences her instantly. Dropping his cup, Bobby draws his pistol in one smooth motion as the woman moves a few steps to one side, unslinging the carbine and tucking the stock under her arm. The dog continues its low, rumbling growl as both man and woman swivel from side to side, scanning the surrounding terrain with both eyes and ears for any threat.

The woman hears it first. A high pitched, almost inaudible whine accompanied by the sound of tires rolling slowly over asphalt. The woman touches Bobby's arm and points towards a stand of trees. Just as Bobby turns to look, a large, dark shape emerges from behind the trees, rolling forward slowly on eight large tires. Bobby and the woman can make out a turret on top of the vehicle scanning slowly from side to side, a long gun barrel pointing in whatever direction the turret was facing at the time. There's no lights visible anywhere on the vehicle as it rolls slowly to a stop and the high pitched whine slowly dies away.

Bobby and the woman can make out a figure standing up in the turret. They see the figure pull itself out of the vehicle and drop to the ground. Bobby holsters his pistol as the woman slings the carbine across her back. Next to them the dog ceases growling and begins an excited whine, it's tail thumping eagerly against the ground.

"Shut up, dog," Bobby snaps as he steps forward to greet the newcomer. The dog instantly falls silent but the tail continues drumming against the ground.

"Hey, Bobby - Julia," a female voice greets them, taking off the cumbersome helmet and running fingers through a mass of close cropped dark curls. The newcomer - obviously a soldier - stops in front of them and bends slightly, vigorously scratching the dog behind the ear.

"Hey, Pepper! Glad to see me? Good dog!" The newcomer fishes in a pocket and removes a strip of beef jerky from a pouch, then feeds it to the eager dog. Straightening up, the newcomer addresses the couple.

"Up early today again. Admiring the instrument of our imminent destruction?" The newcomer jerks her thumb at the comet looming in the sky.

"Nice to see you, Jamie," Bobby says warmly. "Back on nights now?"

"For now. Hopefully that'll -" suddenly a voice sounds from the radio strapped to the newcomer's equipment vest.

"Sergeant Wise, can I let the troops dismount for ten? Everyone needs a stretch and piss break," the voice says.

"Roger, but keep a close eye on the Runners, Zack," the newcomer answers into the radio.

"Awesome. Thanks, Sarge," the voice crackles over the radio. Almost immediately a hissing sound could be heard, followed by a dull thump. Looking back at the vehicle, Jamie, Bobby and Julia can see a ramp at the rear of the vehicle has been lowered, allowing the occupants to dismount.

The Sergeant turns back to the couple. "As I was sayin', hopefully we won't be on night patrol for much longer. But my C.O. saddled me with three Runners, and they have to earn our trust before we loosen the leash on them. I don't think I'll have any problem with two of them - they came running back as soon as the President announced amnesty and what happens after amnesty. It's the third one that I'm worried about."

"Why's that, Jamie?" Julia asks.

"They just caught this kid last month. By rights he should be rotting in an unmarked grave someplace with a bullet in the back of his skull - but he's got connections. His brother-in-law is a Senator from Pennsylvania. Senator Michael Everdeen. Seems that the good Senator is married to this dirtbag's oldest sister and she got all emotional and pressured hubby into pulling strings to get him out of being shot for desertion." The young woman paused, obviously upset by what she viewed as "working the system."

"Has there been many executions?" Bobby asks. "We never hear much about that order on the regular news outlets."

"I've personally seen two," Jamie Wise replies. "This one shoulda been three. Instead, I get saddled with 'retraining' him!"

An uncomfortable silence follows, finally broken by Bobby.

"Amazing how quiet your combat vehicle is," he says to Jamie.

Jamie Wise nods. "It's pretty sweet, that's for sure. The Improved Stryker Mark Three Armored Combat Vehicle System. Hydrogen engine - that's why it's so damn quiet - cruising range in excess of five hundred kilometers, top road speed over one hundred kilometers an hour. Improved armor protection, thirty millimeter chain gun with coaxially mounted seven point six two millimeter machine gun. The chain gun and coax can depress fifteen degrees and elevate to eighty degrees. Dual retractable launcher for the Spike Mark Four fire and forget anti-armor missiles. Top turret mounted fifty caliber M2 machine gun - hard to believe that gun's been in service for over one hundred fifty years - and a rear turret deck mounted forty millimeter grenade launcher."

"Sounds lethal," Julia says quietly.

"It's supposed to be," Jamie says. "It carries a fully equipped infantry squad as well. There's all around firing ports so the troop inside can engage targets without having to expose themselves. There's a ton of variants also - command and control, medical evacuation, reconnaissance, and three mobile gun system variants with ninety, one-oh-five, and one hundred twenty millimeters main guns. Fuel's no problem as long as there's a water source. Break down the water into hydrogen and oxygen, use the hydrogen for fuel."

"Night vision, too," says Bobby. "We didn't see any lights when you rolled up."

"We run night vision on all our patrols. A lot of the refugees we've been getting up here seem to think that they're entitled to take whatever they want, whenever they want. Catch a lot of 'em in the act this way." Jamie says.

"And what do you do with them if you do catch them?" Julia asks, her interest stemming from her former career as a Special Agent for the FBI.

"Depends," Jamie replies. "We don't lock them up - can't waste resources like that. And we don't execute anyone - not yet, anyway. So we either bring them back to their camp and let them go - or we kick them out of their assigned FEMA camp. I've seen that done, too, by the way - effectively we're banning these people from our help."

"What happens to them after they get sent packing?" Julia asks.

Staff Sergeant Jamie Wise shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe they find another FEMA camp. Maybe they end up in a homeless shelter in Denver. Maybe they con some locals into taking them in. All I know is what I've been told to do with them."

"What about the rest of the country? The news that we get here - well, I'm not gonna say that it's censored - but it sure feels like it's heavily 'filtered.'" Bobby asks.

"Well, in spite of all the refugees that we've seen, there's an amazing number of people still living on all three coasts. They either don't believe that there's gonna be an impact or they don't believe that there's gonna be tsunamis. Inland, things are already starting to break down. Public safety nationwide is taking a hit. Cops, firefighters, and paramedics are just walking away from their jobs. Guess they feel that their families come first," Jamie says, irony dripping from her voice.

Bobby stiffens at the news of police abandoning their jobs. As a retired Police Captain, he spent over twenty years working in law enforcement and had been dedicated to his job.

"I heard - I heard that things were getting bad in the cities already," Julia says.

Jamie nods. "We don't see much of that here 'cause of what's been going on with Cheyenne Complex. Colorado Springs is actually pretty lucky in that regard. Their public safety infrastructure is pretty much intact. The biggest problem that we have now is refugees. I'm worried about what happens after - when people come this way wanting the government to fix everything. They're gonna be pissed when they find out that we can't. Guys, I'm not supposed to say anything about this but - well, we've been doing a lot of training in crowd control, and some shrink with the President's 'Brain Trust' has been teaching the leadership on how to spot signs in our troops - signs that they won't obey orders like firing into crowds. That shit has me worried as hell!"

"And it's only gonna get worse," Bobby says. "I saw something like this when I was with Denver Metro. Remember the Food Riots in 2048? We used everything to break up those crowds - water cannon, vehicles spraying tear gas, pepper balls, beanbag rounds in our shotguns, crowd control formations - and we still got the order to lock and load live ammo. Thank God it never came to that...but it sounds like we won't be so lucky this time."

"You 'Enclave' people are vulnerable," Jamie says. "Earlier tonight I had to chase off refugees from Flickerman's place. Last night I had to do the same thing at Heavensbee's. You really need to finish getting your fences up. Once the shit hits the fan I don't know how much help we'll be able to give, if any."

"You were at Stu Flickerman's earlier? When? I didn't hear anything," Bobby says.

Jamie Wise grins, her white teeth a sharp contrast against her dark face. "Stu didn't either. We passed a group of refugees on the road about twenty minutes before. They scattered when they heard us coming but our thermal sights made 'em stand out like bugs on a plate. Technically they aren't supposed to be out after 9 P.M. but curfew is not a priority right now. But, I decided to see what they were gonna do so I found a nice hide near Stu's place and waited. Sure enough, this group shows up and makes a beeline for Stu's farm - only to find my squad waiting for them. I don't think that's one group that'll break curfew again any time soon."

The radio crackles again at Jamie's shoulder. "Securing from break now, Sarge."

Jamie turns back toward the vehicle and keys her microphone. "Roger, I'm just about -" She sees a figure making its way from a stand of trees towards the Stryker. "- uhh, stand by, Zack. On my way."

"Gotta go, guys," Jamie says hurriedly, turning and starting to jog towards the figure making its way back to the vehicle. As she runs Bobby and Julia can here her yelling at the shadowy form.

"You! Trooper! _Freeze right there!_ I know it's you, Snowflake! What the hell did I tell you about staying within three meters of the Stryker _at all times? _ Huh? Runner, you damn lucky I don't cap you right here and now!" Jamie reaches the figure and continues her tirade.

"Private Snow, gimme one good reason why I shouldn't grease you right here and now!" The Sergeant is gripping the other soldier's gear firmly, dragging him back to the Stryker.

"Sergeant, I really had to go bad!" Private Snow whines, stumbling while trying to keep his balance.

"Did you bury it, at least, Snowflake?" Jamie barks. The small man nods quickly. "Okay, listen close, Snowflake. You gotta take a dump, you dig a nice hole next to the Stryker and do your business there. You go looking for privacy again, I swear to God I'll cap you right then and there. Take a look around - notice that Michael Everdeen, your Senator brother-in-law, is nowhere to be seen. Got it?" Without waiting for a reply, Jamie shoves Private Snow into the back of the vehicle and makes a circular motion over her head with her hand. Immediately the engine whines to life and the ramp raises back into place.

Jamie quickly climbs up the side of the armored vehicle then settles back into the turret. As the vehicle starts to move she raises her hand one last time at the couple still standing nearby.

Bobby and Julia wave back, watching the Stryker disappear from view. Bobby bends down and picks up his coffee cup, then turns towards his wife.

"For a moment I thought we were gonna witness a field execution," he says grimly.

"You know things are gonna get worse - much worse," Julia says. "Robert Joseph Trinket, now's not the time to get soft."

Bobby slips his arm around his wife's waist as they walk back towards their compound. "Don't worry - the last thing I want to do is look soft in front of a Fed!" Julia laughs quietly as they walk.

"Once it gets light, I'm gonna go see Stu Flickerman and Elliott Heavensbee. We really need to get the rest of our perimeter fences built. Like you said, babe - things are only gonna get worse." Bobby says. His wife says nothing as they reach the compound and slip through the gate, closing and locking it securely behind them.

Overhead, the comet glitters brightly. In the last ten minutes, it's moved thirty thousand kilometers closer to the Earth.

**JET PROPULSION LABORATORY, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA - 6:00 A.M., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 4TH, 2070**

"I'm not getting anything," Jack Hawthorne says to the NASA communications technician sitting across from him. "Are you sure the feed's up?"

"Yes, sir," the technician answers, frowning at the computer display while tapping keys. "I just don't - ahh! Got it!"

A voice emanated from the wall mounted speaker. "- Control, this is Clarke, over."

"This is Mission Control, go ahead, Clarke, over." A metallic voice answers.

"This is Clarke. Do we have feed with JPL? Over."

"Roger that. Switching now." Jack's computer screen wavered a bit, then steady to show the image of a man about Jack's age, but with hair gone iron gray, sitting in what appeared to be an incredibly cluttered room.

"Go ahead, JPL," the metallic voice says.

"Thank you, Control. Clarke, this is Hawthorne at JPL. You copy?" Jack says.

The face on the computer screen breaks into a tired smile. "Jack, you son of a bitch, how the hell are you?"

Jack smiles back at the face on his screen. "I've been better, Marco. How are you reading me?"

"Five by five here, Jack - and I hear ya. We've been pretty busy today already. The crew from the Astarte Orbiter completed rendezvous with us right before midnight your time. And, if everything goes as planned, our first pusher nuke should detonate in the vicinity of Shiva/Mjolnir in less than five minutes." The astronaut glances to one side and says something to someone out of camera range, then turns back.

Operation Ricochet - the attempt to use the shock waves from nuclear detonations in the paths of both Shiva and Mjolnir in an effort to change their "delta vee" - their orbital velocity as both objects approach the Earth - was launched several months ago. Using the most powerful launch platforms available to NASA, the Russian Space Agency, the Chinese Space Authority, and the European Space Agency, a series of powerful thermonuclear weapons was launched to intercept the bodies as far from Earth as possible. A series of carefully planned detonations would, it was hoped, change the velocity of the objects enough so that they would miss the Earth entirely.

Jack glanced over at Henry Mitchell, sitting at a console to his right, then at Melody Temple-Smith and Elise Orr, recently arrived from Hawaii, sitting at consoles to his left. Both Henry and Melody give Jack a thumbs up.

"Marco, Henry indicates that we're tracking with Tyson and Melody is getting good telemetry from Watchdog -" Watchdog was the last spacecraft launched towards Shiva/Mjolnir, designed to monitor the detonations from as close a vantage point as possible and return data as to points of detonation, explosive yield, and immediate effects on the two bodies "- and your folks in Clarke are monitoring as well."

"Three minutes," Melody announces. Behind her, Charles Smith, Melody's newlywed husband, was sitting and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of what his wife was doing.

"Three minutes," Jack echoes to Marco Kimbrough. "How's the Astarte crew holding up, Marco?"

"Copy three minutes. Not bad considering they managed to get back here in record time. Venus was not in an optimum position on their departure date for a standard Venus-Earth return trajectory. They managed to dock with us with literally zero maneuver propellant left in their tanks. As for the crew, they're disappointed at having to leave Venus orbit so suddenly, and of course scared like we all are. They had to make the transit in zero-gee so Doc has them towards the Hub in micro-gee and is working on getting their strength up before letting them return to the Wheel. Uhh...stand by, JPL." Marco turns to one side, his hand cupping over his microphone as spoke rapidly to someone off camera.

"Standing by," Jack says calmly. He glances around the room, then presses another button on the console in front of him.

"Elena, are you copying?" Jack asks.

"Roger that," the voice of Elena Roshenko crackles over the speaker.

"How's everything looking on your end?" Jack asks his counterpart at the Mauna Kea Observatory.

"Good visual on the main 'scope. Tracking smoothly. Cameras are taking one frame every five seconds. The damn comet really looks beautiful, Jack," Elena replies.

"Two minutes," Melody announces. Jack nods at her then keys his microphone.

"Copy two minutes, everyone. Marco, back with us?"

" - minutes. I say again, I copy two minutes. Sorry about that, Jack. Running a space station is a twenty four hour job, even when the end of the world is staring you in the face," Marco chuckles. Jack grins at his friend.

"No problem here, Marco. Is your force field up and running yet?" Jack asks.

"We should finish installation in a week. Once it's tested and operational, we've arranged to have both the Russians and the Chinese shoot one of those anti-satellite canister rounds at us in a retrograde orbit. We'll have a closing velocity at over seventeen kilometers a second. Only one third the delta vee of what we can expect from the Shiva/Mjolnir debris cloud, but these chunks will be much bigger than anything we can expect from the comet." Marco pauses for a moment and looks thoughtful. "I sure as hell hope it works - otherwise this station is gonna be shredded by all the crap that comet is dragging here with it."

The force field was new technology that had only been developed over the last couple of years. Jack wasn't entirely sure of the science behind it - he was, after all, an astronomer, not a physicist - but in essence, a series of generators focused a coherent field of electromagnetic energy that was "bound" together to form a sort of wireless electric fence, only infinitely more powerful than any electric fence every seen on Earth. Objects that came in contact with this field were violently repelled in a flash of electromagnetic energy. In theory, this field would repel the billions of smaller comet chunks that were going to sweep across the Earth's orbit at time of impact.

In theory.

"One minute," Melody announces. Jack echoes the countdown to Marco and Elena.

"I don't know why we're getting so keyed up," Marco says. "We won't see anything for almost seven minutes after the initial detonation. Anyway, this force field is really gonna drain our power. We've run sims and it looks like we'll have to shut down virtually every system on the station except for minimal life support as long as the field is on. So we're gonna be blind, deaf, and mute for the duration."

"Well, it was your decision to stay up there," Jack says reasonably.

"Copy that," Marco says. "And if you notice, it's not just us staying put through all this. Shackleton on the Moon and Lowell Station on Mars are also opting to sit tight. After all, we're all pretty much self sustaining - we can run for years without re-supply and for a lot longer if we all tighten our belts and eliminate non-essential activities."

"Thirty seconds," Melody says. Jack reaches over and patches her feed to everyone. Now everyone on the net can hear her countdown. Jack finds that he's holding his breath and lets it out slowly. Like Marco said, it'll be almost seven minutes until they even know if the first nuke goes off or -

"Twenty seconds." - not. Jack forces his hands to unclench and nervously takes a swallow of coffee.

"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

A whooshing sound fills the room as everyone's collective breath lets out. Jack keys his microphone.

"Alright folks, take a minute to compose, but don't relax. We should get a return on the first nuke in less than seven minutes. And, we have twenty birds set to detonate at three minute intervals over the span of an hour. Let's not lose focus."

Murmurs of assent from the room, accompanied by radio transmissions of "Copy" and "Roger that," tell Jack that his team is alert and ready. Jack sees a figure stride into the room. He recognizes the man and stands up, as does Lieutenant Commander Charles Smith.

Jack extends his hand. "Admiral, just in time for the show."

Rear Admiral Quentin Mason grips Jack's hand firmly. "Good to see you again, Jack," he says warmly, then turns and nods towards Melody and Charles. "Melody - Charles. How's the happy couple?"

"Just fine, Admiral, thank you," Charles says. Mason smiles and turns back to Jack.

"The phone's ready?" He asks. Jack nods and points to a single phone sitting by itself on a small desk.

"Direct line to the Oval Office," Jack says.

"Good," Mason says. "Guess they figured that a flag officer needed to be the one to talk to the President."

Jack shrugs. "I'll be right here to answer any questions that she may have."

"Thanks, Jack," Mason says with a smile.

"Five minutes to first return," Melody announces.

"Elena, how's the view with the big 'scope?" Jack asks.

"Good here, Jack," Elena replies.

"Henry? All okay with Tyson?" Thumbs up in response.

"Melody? Watchdog transmitting?" Another thumbs up as Melody stares intently at the screen.

"Marco? Everything nominal?"

"Five by five, Jack," is the confident response.

"Coffee, Admiral?" Jack asks, indicating the coffee maker.

"Thanks, Jack. Yes, please." Together Mason and Jack walk to the coffee maker. As they pour their beverages and stir in sweeteners and creamer, Mason speaks to Jack in a low voice.

"Jack, this isn't for publication, but the President is set to evacuate her kids to Canada if Ricochet doesn't work. Apparently she has family there."

Jack looks at the Admiral, startled. "Canada? I would have thought the Springs."

"Me too," Mason says grimly. "I'm not entirely sure what to read into this - if anything. Just remember, not for publication, Jack."

"Of course, Admiral," Jack says as they walk back to the work stations.

Jack gets seated and indicates a chair nearby for the Admiral. As Mason sits, Melody's voice announces, "One minute to first detonation. One minute."

Mason turns to Jack. "You think this'll work?" he asks.

"No," says Jack. "We just don't have enough time. But we had to try _something_."

"Agreed," Mason says, glancing around the room. He realizes that no one else in the room expects it to work, either. Melody continues her countdown, until, once again -

"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

Detonation.

A brilliant pinprick of light appears on every computer monitor in the room. At Mauna Kea, Elena Roshenko had stepped outside the observatory and turned her gaze towards the comet. With her naked eye she could see the almost painfully bright flare, further away from Earth than Venus is from the Sun. An artificial super nova, created in the hope of saving mankind from destruction.

Instruments on board the orbiting Clarke Station capture data from the detonation, and Marco Kimbrough is heard to mutter, "Damn thing went off exactly _on time_!"

Muted cheers erupt in JPL as the pinprick of light fades away. Admiral Quentin Mason wordlessly makes his way to the solitary phone, picks it up, waits for a few seconds, murmurs a few quick words, and hangs up. He walks back and takes his seat next to Jack.

"I've informed the President that the detonations have begun." he says. Jack, intent on analyzing data, nods without taking his eyes off the screen.

This scene was repeated nineteen more times over the course of the next hour. Each thermonuclear device detonated on time and on station. Admiral Mason waited until the last device exploded, then went to inform the President that, at least as far as the detonations were concerned, that Operation Ricochet had been a success.

"Alright, folks - let's start crunching some numbers!" Jack announces, and begins to issue orders to the assembled astronomers as well as Elena Roshenko at Mauna Kea and Marco Kimbrough in Clarke Station. "We'll need updated orbital projections ASAP. Elena, Henry, Melody - you three need to be in each others' hip pockets correlating this data."

Jack sits at his work station and continues to analyze incoming data. Admiral Mason stands quietly by, then finally asks the question.

"How long before you can give me something I can tell the President?"

Jack sighs and leans back in his chair. He looks at the clock absently.

"Three hours. We'll know for sure by then."

Mason nods. "Thanks, Jack."

**THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C. - 6:00 P.M., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 4TH, 2070**

"My fellow Americans. Several months ago, under the auspices of the United Nations, a plan was developed that was our only real chance of success in avoiding an imminent impact by the astronomical bodies known as Shiva and Mjolnir."

"This plan, which came to be known as Operation Ricochet, involved launching twenty high yield thermonuclear devices at the oncoming comet and asteroid, to be detonated - not on the surface of these bodies - but in the orbital paths, taking the calculated risk that the shock waves from the detonations would be of sufficient strength to slow and alter the orbital paths of both Shiva and Mjolnir, causing them to miss the Earth entirely."

"This morning, shortly after nine o'clock Washington time, these devices made rendezvous with the oncoming comet and asteroid, and detonations occurred at a rate of one every three minutes for close to an hour. According to the astronomers and staff at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, all devices detonated on time and exactly where they were supposed to detonate."

"Several hours ago, JPL astronomers, working in concert with the International Astronomical Union as well as NASA, the European Space Agency, and the Clarke Orbital Station, completed their revised calculations of the orbits of the Shiva/Mjolnir bodies, and found that, while there was a measurable change in orbital velocity, it was not enough to cause these bodies to miss us on July 4th."

"Therefore, as President of the United States, I've ordered the final preparations for the imminent impacts to be continued, and I urge all of my fellow American citizens to take all prudent and legal precautions and preparations necessary. At the conclusion of this broadcast, there will be a listing of government agencies with telephone numbers that you can turn to for assistance. Thank you, good night, and good luck to you all."

The blinking red light disappears from the top of the camera. "And - we're off, Madam President."

Janice York sighed and rubbed her face, gesturing with her free hand at someone standing off to the side. Her husband appears next to her instantly.

"This is it, Ed," she says quietly. "Are the kids ready?"

"Packed and ready," her husband replies. "I've spoken with the head of their security detail. Good man. He'll take good care of the kids and make sure they make it to your Aunt and Uncles safely."

Jan quickly bites back tears. For the millionth time she wonders if sending the kids to Mont-Laurier, Quebec, is really the right thing to do, then steels herself.

"I want to talk to him," Jan says, rising from behind her desk. Dan Crane, her Chief of Staff, suddenly appears.

"Madam President, we have a meeting in twenty minutes with -" he begins before Jan cuts him off.

"I'll be there, Dan," she snaps. "Colonel York and I are going to the Quarters. I'll be back in ten minutes." Without waiting for a response - or her husband - Jan turns and strides out of the Oval Office, making her way upstairs to the Quarters. Ed York hurries to catch up to her.

"He's up there now, right?" she asks.

"Yes, he's with the kids now - and the rest of the detail." Ed replies.

Jan and Ed walk into the kids quarters. Veronica and Ed, Jr. both visibly upset, are sitting on their beds, packed suitcases by their feet. At the sight of their parents they both bound to their feet and hurl themselves into their parents' arms.

Jan and Ed hug their children close to them, every member of the York family quietly sobbing for a minute or two, until Veronica breaks the silence.

"We don't wanna go - right Ed?" she says between sniffles. Her twin brother can only nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Jan takes both her kids firmly by their shoulders. "Now listen to me - both of you. I know you guys love Quebec, and I already told your Uncle Henri and Aunt Clotilde that you're coming. I know you don't wanna go - but you gotta. For me and your Dad. Okay?" Janice bites the inside of her cheek in an effort to remain in control.

Both kids were crying quietly, but they both nod their heads slowly.

"Okay then. It's not forever - and don't start on me again about Colorado Springs. The Springs won't be any place for either of you. I'll send for you just as soon as all this nonsense is over. Deal?" She quickly gathers her kids to her and gives each one a hug and kiss. The kids turn to say their goodbyes to their father. While they do, Jan searches the room with her eyes until she spots the head of the kids' security detail. She beckons him over.

"Madam President?" he says quietly.

"It's Greg, right?" Janice York asks.

"Yes, ma'am. Gregory Coin. I was assigned to the kids right before last Christmas." He turns and indicates a female agent standing nearby, who quickly joins him. "My wife, Lynnette - also part of the kids' detail."

Jan shakes hand with both of them. "I wish I had the opportunity to spend more time with you - and them -" she indicates her kids with a nod of her head "- but, circumstances being what they are and all..."

"Madam President, your children are our only priority," Lynnette Coin says quickly. "We'll get them to Mont-Laurier quickly and safely - that I guarantee."

"Thank you both," Jan says gratefully. "I know you spoke with my husband already - we don't want any public transportation used to get the kids to Quebec. No Hoverplanes, no trains - travel by car all the way."

"We've been briefed thoroughly, Madam President," Gregory Coin says. "Ma'am, we should be going."

"Of course," Jan says in almost a whisper, then, "Kids, come here." She and Ed gather them in for one last hug while other agents quietly gather up the kids' luggage. Jan can see Gregory Coin talking quietly into a comm unit on his wrist, then glance at his wife and nod.

Wordlessly everyone moves to the door. Jan and Ed stand quietly by, watching as the efficient Secret Service staff moves the kids out the door. Suddenly, Veronica stops, turns, and says, "Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. Ed and I love you."

Jan and Ed can both feel tears welling up in their eyes as their daughter turns away. They catch one last glimpse of Ed, Jr., waving solemnly, then the door shuts firmly behind them,

Jan collapses into her husband's arms. This would be the last time either one ever saw their children again.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5 - COLLAPSE**

**ARKANSAS RIVER JUST OUTSIDE PINE BLUFF, JEFFERSON COUNTY, ARKANSAS - 6:00 A.M., FRIDAY, JUNE 20TH, 2070 - TWO WEEKS TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR**

Lucas O'Dair let his hand rest lightly on the throttle of the small trolling motor, feeling the slight vibration in his palm as he smoothly navigated the boat into a deeper channel of the wide, glassy river. His practiced eye glanced quickly at each of the three trolling lines paying out behind the boat. Satisfied at the appearance of the lines and the boat's heading, Lucas tapped the throttle lock and secured the tiller in place, effectively putting the small boat on auto pilot.

Lucas turned, facing around to his two companions, and pulled his ball cap off to vigorously scratch through his unruly mop of reddish-blonde hair. He grinned at his two companions - a pair of teenaged boys that shared his bronzed complexion and auburn hair. They returned his smile tentatively, trying - and failing - to mask the fear in their eyes.

Lucas pointed at a thermos sitting at the feet of the younger boy. "Sam, hand me the coffee, would you?" he asked, and murmured his thanks to the boy as Sam complied. Out of the corner of his eye Lucas noticed one of the lines twitch a bit. As he carefully poured a cup of coffee, he glanced at the older boy, who was showing no reaction to the twitching line.

"All these lines okay, Luke?" he asked, taking a cautious sip of his coffee. Startled, Luke turned towards the older man and quickly nodded.

"Yes, sir," he stammered, looking guilty. The older man just grinned knowingly and nodded. _Gotta keep them focused on today, not two weeks from now,_ he says to himself. Taking another sip of coffee, Lucas leaned back and allowed himself to relax just a bit.

A mist hangs over the still waters as the boat, traveling no faster than a walking man, glided almost noiselessly through the water. Suddenly, the pole on the right side of the boat bent forward suddenly, its tip almost touching the water. With a practiced hand Lucas killed the motor and spun in his seat to retrieve his pole. Before he turned he had seen Luke grab the right side pole and start to reel the line in, and, as Sam grabbed up the pole on the left he saw the tip of that pole bend forward. With a grin on his face Lucas reached for his own pole riding on the transom, only to see it bend forward suddenly.

_A three-fer!_ Lucas says to himself as he and the two boys quickly reel in their lines. Even though the boys had a head start with their reeling, Lucas was the first to land his fish, a nice sized rainbow trout, as he had less line to haul in. Careful to keep tension on his line, he grabbed up the net and, with a practiced flip, slipped the net under the wiggling fish. Hauling the net into the boat, he reached in and grabbed the trout firmly, popping the hook free and dumping the fish in the wire mesh creel hanging in the water.

Replacing the pole back in its trolling mount, Lucas lets the hook dangle in the water and turns to see which of his sons needed help. Seeing that Luke's fish was almost at the boat, he helps his oldest son land his fish, then repeats the process with Sam. Soon, three nice sized rainbow trout were splashing in the creel.

With a satisfied smile, Lucas restarts the trolling motor and heads back into the deep channel as the boys pay their lines out again. Satisfied with the boat's speed and direction, Lucas is the last to pay his own line out. Finally, he retrieves his coffee cup from the cup holder, noting with pleasure that he didn't spill a drop.

Although they didn't repeat the three-fer, their luck was excellent that morning, and Lucas noted that they had a nice haul of fifteen rainbows, the smallest being a good thirty centimeters. Although a nice breakfast of trout and eggs sounded wonderful, these fish weren't for eating - at least not right away. As soon as they got their catch home and cleaned, Lucas's wife Holly would get busy drying and salting their catch, preserving it for what was sure to be some lean days after The End.

Seeing that the boys had secured the three poles, Lucas killed the trolling motor and started the larger outboard for the trip back to the public docks. There was a slip that he rented from the county for a small monthly fee. He would secure the boat there, then he and the boys would take their catch home. Sometimes there was a Wildlife Management Officer at the public docks, there to inspect fishing licenses and to make sure that fishermen didn't go over their legal limits, but Lucas hadn't seen anyone from Wildlife Management in over two weeks. Still, he dutifully insisted that he and the boys wear their fishing licenses as required by law.

_Not much law left, either, _Lucas says to himself bitterly. He was a Sergeant with the Jefferson County Sheriff's Department, but of late had been relegated to "on call" status due to the mass defections from not only the Sheriff, but Police, Fire, and even the State Police. Routine patrol had become virtually non-existent, with neighborhoods banding together to form their own neighborhood watch programs - in effect, armed vigilantes patrolling the streets. Owners of the few businesses that were still open were doing the same thing. Surprisingly, the gangs that infested the East Side of town had been very quiet - no doubt due in large part to the "shoot first" attitude of the neighborhood and business watch programs.

Lucas sighed. In spite of their recent inactivity, he knew it wouldn't last forever - especially considering the fact that competition for the few available remaining resources would become fierce once Shiva/Mjolnir struck. But, for now, he was still a cop - even though he hadn't been paid in several weeks. The local businesses had taken to paying the few remaining public servants with goods, such as food, potable bottled water, hydrogen, as well as whatever consumable or non-consumable goods would be useful. At first reluctant to take what he considered were gratuities, he gradually accepted what he realized was the only way the community could keep paying him. So, even though he spent the morning fishing with his sons, he was still armed and wearing a department issue commicuff, as well as having his phone with him, fully charged. And, as he approached the public docks, he realized that being armed right now was probably a good thing.

Lucas could see several young men loitering in the area near the public docks. _East-Siders_, he says to himself. _Gang-bangers, from their clothes. A pretty far piece from their turf._ There were at least four that he could see, as his boat slowly made its way ever closer to the docks. As the docks were county property, Lucas finds himself wondering why these men were so far from home - the East Side was several miles away - and he doubted that any of them knew anything about piloting a boat, operating a boat motor, or fishing. It was then that he noticed the attention that they seemed to be paying to the creel, hanging off the side of the boat in the water.

_It can't be - it's too soon for this,_ Lucas says to himself. _They can't be after food already?_ But somehow he knew that's exactly what this group was after. With deliveries to the local grocery stores and supermarkets getting more and more infrequent, it stood to reason that people who pretty much lived day to day wouldn't have stockpiles of food that they could turn to.

Pine Bluff was considered to be just out of Mega-Tsunami range, so not a lot of the residents had evacuated. With the nations' infrastructure rapidly falling apart, especially in the more rural parts of the county, services were already strained to the breaking point - to that point where people like East Side gang-bangers, used to turf wars, slinging dope, robbing, and killing each other to stay alive - now had to venture out to find new targets. The neighborhoods and businesses were doing a decent job of protecting themselves - so that left isolated areas like the public docks vulnerable to human predators.

_And no place for a kilometer up or down river where I can land this boat,_ Lucas says to himself. Very clever of these gang bangers to just wait for boats that went out early in the morning to return with their catch. Lucas felt his jaw tighten in anger. _These scumbags see a man and his two sons - helpless victims, _he says to himself grimly. _Time for a little surprise._

The men standing on the dock looked very relaxed - they knew that their intended prey really had nowhere else to go except stay on the river - and if they tried to run, well, it would be easy enough for these men to shadow the boat up or down river to the next available landing site. Lucas could still only see four - and at least two of them were clutching handguns.

"Boys," he said softly, then, when he got no response, "Boys!" Both Luke and Sam jump a little then sheepishly turned to face their father. "Get your guns - but keep them out of sight. See the ones with the pistols?" Both boys nod. "Those are your targets." Lucas casually reaches behind him and loosens his own pistol in the holster at the small of his back.

"Luke, you take the one on the left. Sam, you take the one on the right. Don't hesitate. If I say fire, fire! Aim for center mass, just like we practiced. Got it?" Luke looked back at his father, eyes wide, and nods. Sam didn't say anything and kept staring straight ahead.

"Sam," Lucas says softly, but firmly. "Sam!"

"I hear you, Dad," Sam says. Lucas can see the boy's hands trembling as he edges forward and reaches down to clutch the shotgun laying near his feet. Lucas glances towards Luke and sees his older son with his hand wrapped around the pistol grip of the carbine. Lucas slowly pilots the boat towards the docks.

"Any luck?" One of the men holding a pistol calls out. Lucas examines him intently. He couldn't be over twenty.

"Some," Lucas replies evenly.

"Looks like you got enough to share," the man answers with a smirk. "So don't take all day gettin' here! We all hungry - so move your ass!" The man gestures with his pistol. Lucas decides that he's the one in charge.

Lucas slows the boat almost to an idle. "Listen, take the fish. Just don't hurt my boys and I!" he pleads, hoping he sounds convincing.

The leader buys it and laughs cruelly. "Well, now, that all depends - you may just have to fish for us every day, in that case!" His companions laugh at this, and Lucas knows what the joke is. These animals have no intention of letting them go. They know that the men in this boat won't just complacently fish for them every day, but rather would come back armed to the teeth. Lucas realizes that these men intend to rob and kill him and his sons - over a few fish. Quickly a plan forms in his mind.

Leaning forward, he says in almost a whisper, "When I throw the tie line - that's your signal - you shoot, and shoot to kill. Got it?" Both boys nod once, tightly, and Lucas sees Sam swallow once, his eyes wide. _Good, _he says to himself, _he looks scared. Perfect._ The boat glides ever so slowly towards the slip, the men on the dock waiting impatiently.

"I...I'll need some help with the tie line," Lucas says haltingly. The leader's eyes narrow and he regards Lucas with suspicion.

"Why can't one of these assholes do it?" the leader says, indicating Luke and Sam.

"Boat'll be more stable if one of you takes the line," Lucas lies. "Don't want to capsize and lose the fish."

"Okay," the leader snaps, and waves one of the others forward to take the line. Lucas sees it's not the one with a gun in his hand. Lucas kills the motor, allowing the boat to drift toward the dock.

The designated line-man - or boy, as the case may be, as he doesn't look older than sixteen to Lucas - steps forward, a look of confusion on his face.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks.

"See that cleat? The metal thing on the dock?" Lucas asks. The boy looks down and nods. "Just wrap the line back and forth around that so the boat doesn't drift off. I'll fix it after I'm on the dock."

"Got it," the boy says. Just a couple of meters from the dock, Lucas stands up carefully, the momentum of the boat carrying them forward slowly. He's clutching a coil of rope in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the leader shift and begin to bring his gun up, then he sees movement from the other side as the other gunman does the same.

_Shit_, he says to himself, _this'll have to be perfect. _"Ready?" he calls out, and sees the boy nod. He senses rather than sees his own sons tense up. Lucas takes a deep breath and hurls the coil of rope towards the boy and sees the coil strike the boy in the chest. Lucas's hand darts to the small of his back, his fingers wrapping around the familiar feel of the pistol grip and he tugs the pistol free of the holster. He hears a curse, the sharp crack of a handgun firing, then a series of cracks accompanied by two loud booms of the shotgun.

Lucas keeps focused on his target - the boy fumbling with the rope. As he fights with the rope Lucas sees his hand reaching towards his waistband for a pistol protruding from the waist of his pants. Lucas finishes drawing his pistol, and with a smooth practiced motion, swings it up and aims center mass at the boy, the rope at his feet as he frees his own gun. Lucas taps the trigger twice, feeling his pistol buck in his hand and seeing two bright red flowers bloom on the boy's chest. He sees the boy slump lifelessly to the dock.

His ears ringing, Lucas looks around. He sees Luke trying to aim his carbine at something on the dock and realizes it's the fourth man, but Luke doesn't have a clear shot. Lucas sees the shotgun lying on the bottom of the boat, the action jammed open by a partially ejected shell, smoke still curling up from the breech and the barrel. He feels the boat shift and sees Sam leaping from the boat onto the dock, clutching a long handled boat hook. From the time Lucas threw the rope to now, not even ten seconds have passed.

"Sam!" Lucas shouts, but the boy doesn't even turn back, hitting the dock running and clutching the boat hook. Lucas realizes that his son is after the fourth man.

"Shit!" Lucas exclaims, climbing onto the dock. Glancing around quickly, he sees the leader, the boy with the rope, and the other gunman laying in rapidly spreading pools of blood. He sees his youngest son almost at the end of the dock chasing the fourth man, who stops suddenly, whirls around, and pulls a pistol from his waistband.

"Sam!" Lucas shouts, bringing his own pistol up, but without a clear shot as Sam is right in his line of fire. As the fourth man starts to bring his own pistol up, Sam whips the boat hook around by the handle like a baseball bat, the handle colliding with the fourth man's arms and knocking the pistol out of his hands. Lucas hears the man cry out in pain as Sam jabs him viciously in the chest with the butt of the boat hook, knocking the man back and sending him sprawling.

Sam leaps onto the man, spinning the boat hook around in his hands once again and raising it high over his head. The fourth man feebly puts his hands and arms out in an attempt to ward off the next blow.

"Sam! Don't!" Lucas yells, even as the fourth man is screaming, "No! No! Please don't!"

Lucas sees Sam hesitate for a split second, then bring the business end of the boat hook down violently against the fourth man's exposed throat.

Lucas can only watch, paralyzed, as his youngest son drives the makeshift spear deep into the man's throat, hearing a final agonized bubbling scream as the man arches his back, clutching at the handle of the boat hook, his blood visibly spurting from the wound.

Lucas finally stumbles forward, reaching his son and grabbing him by the shoulders. He pulls his son off the dying man and sees to his horror that he's drenched with blood. Sam, wild-eyed, stumbles back with his father, then, as if seeing what he had just done for the first time, drops to his hands and knees on the dock and vomits violently.

Lucas kneels by his youngest son, absently patting his back as Sam throws up. His attention is diverted by the sounds of someone else coughing and gagging, and he idly looks down the length of the dock to where the other three bodies lay, to see Luke leaning over the edge of the dock, throwing up into the still waters below. Lucas feels the haze leaving his brain and suddenly he, too, doesn't feel so good.

Swallowing heavily, he lurches to his feet and makes his way to Luke, now wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You okay?" Lucas asks. Luke just looks at him dully and nods. Lucas turns examines the three bodies. The leader is laying on his back, arms out flung, his eyes open and staring, a look of surprise on his face. Lucas can see four neat holes in the man's chest. He picks up the man's pistol, unloads it, and hands it to Luke. Next he examines the boy with the rope, laying on his side, eyes closed, two neat holes an inch apart in his chest. He takes the boy's gun and, repeating the process, also hands it to Luke. The last man is laying on his back, his chest and abdomen torn open by two close range shotgun blasts. His gun is nowhere to be seen. _Probably in the water,_ Lucas says to himself.

Straightening up, Lucas walks back to his youngest son, now sitting on the dock, crying quietly. Not saying a word, Lucas sits next to the boy and hugs him close, the boy clutching at him as he continues to sob. Lucas realizes as he holds the boy that his commicuff is buzzing insistently.

Disengaging himself from Sam, Lucas taps the commicuff and brings it to his mouth.

"Pine Bluff Central, this is thirty-two x-ray four, go ahead."

"Four, Central. Report of shots fired vicinity public docks, over."

"Ten-four, Central. That was me. The situation is under control."

"Four, Central. Do you need back-up? Over."

"Negative, Central. Four coroner cases, though. Need to get the van out here. I'm at the public docks."

"Will advise coroner, Four. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Ten-four, Central. Some gang bangers tried to rob and murder us for our fish."

"Holy shit. I mean, roger that, Four. I'll advise thirty-two yankee one."

"Ten-four, Central. Thirty-two x-ray four, out."

Lucas beckons his oldest son over. "Yes, Dad?" the boy asks. Lucas hands him his truck keys.

"Luke, take your brother, the fish, and the guns home - even the guns we took off of them," Lucas says. "I gotta stay here and wait for the coroner van. I'll catch a ride home later. I have a report to write."

"Okay, Dad." Luke says. He turns to go, then turns back suddenly. "Dad?"

"Yes, Luke?" his father says tiredly.

"We - I mean, Sam and I - did we do okay today?" Luke asks hesitantly. Lucas stands up, walks over, and hugs his son. He feels another set of arms and sees Sam standing there, hugging them both.

"You two did just fine, boys." Lucas says. "Now go on home, okay?" The boys nod, and, gathering up their fish, the poles, and the guns, head back to the truck. A minute later, Lucas hears the truck start up and drive off.

Lucas carefully replaces his pistol in the holster, then pulls out his phone. He surveys the dock one last time and shakes his head sadly.

"Two weeks before that damn thing falls - and this shit's starting _already_," he mutters to himself, then pulls his phone out to call his wife and let her know that he won't be home for a while.

**THE CABINET ROOM, THE WEST WING, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C. - 9:00 A.M., FRIDAY, JUNE 20TH, 2070 - TWO WEEKS TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR**

"Okay, let's get started," Janice York says, taking her seat at the table. "Dr. Hawthorne?"

Jack Hawthorne stands up. "Thank you, Madam President...ladies and gentlemen. Here's what we have as of six this morning." Jack taps his screen on his PADD and the view screen on the wall comes to life. Jack gestures towards the screen.

"First of all, Shiva has calved into no less than twenty pieces of significant size. By significant, I mean objects at least a kilometer across or larger. Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Roshenko, Mrs. Temple-smith, Miss Orr and I have had Shiva under observation on a daily basis for months. Our consensus is that our attempts to deflect Shiva/Mjolnir by using shock waves caused by the detonation of thermonuclear devices in their orbital path destabilized the comet to a degree sufficient to cause its break up."

"So it's broken up? That's a good thing, right?" The question comes from Vice President Alexander Cray. Jack turns to Cray.

"Yes and no, Mr. Vice President. It means that we are no longer facing an extinction level event." Jack paused as a wave of gasps and murmurs of relief swept over the room. "However," he continued, "All of these objects will still impact Earth." Jack points to the series of fuzzy objects on the screen. "Shiva has broken up much in the same way that Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 did in 1994. Based on the data that we have, our best estimate is that the first impact will occur in the Bay of Bengal on July 4th. The first land impact should occur somewhere in the Middle East - Pakistan or possibly Iran - shortly after the Bay of Bengal Strike. The fragment strikes will continue -" Jack projects a world map on the screen and indicates impact zones with a laser pointer "- the Mediterranean, at least one in Europe, the Atlantic, the Gulf of Mexico, at least one in the Southwestern United States, the Gulf of California, and the Pacific."

"What about Thor's Hammer, Dr. Hawthorne? Has it - what's the word you used - 'calved' also?" Janice York asked.

"Madam President, Thor's Hammer is a solid body, unlike Shiva. We anticipate that it will strike somewhere in the Central Atlantic." Jack replies. "Unlike Shoemaker-Levy 9, we anticipate that the strikes will be spaced fairly closely together. The time from the Bay of Bengal strike to the last Pacific strike should be a matter of a few hours, not days or weeks. In addition to the major strikes, we anticipate several dozen 'air-bursters' along roughly the same strike corridor."

"'Air-bursters?'" The Air Force Chief of Staff asks.

"Yes, General," Henry Mitchell replies as he stands up. "Smaller bodies that don't have sufficient density or mass to actually impact the Earth, but rather explode prior to impact. Good examples of these are the Tunguska event in Siberia in 1908 and the Chelyabinsk event in Russia in 2013. Please bear in mind that these objects can still cause enormous localized destruction, and can pack the same explosive power as a thermonuclear warhead."

"Along those lines, we can't forget about what's happening above us in orbit," Rear Admiral Quentin Mason says, standing up as Henry Mitchell takes his seat again. "There are literally billions of smaller fragments, ranging from particles of dust to pieces that are car-sized, that will sweep across Earth's orbit and cause incredible havoc to our satellites in orbit. We can count on having virtually all of our communications, weather, and GPS satellites heavily damaged, if not destroyed outright, by these pieces of comet. The only orbital platform that we will be able to protect is Clarke Station. A prototype electro-magnetic force field has been installed on the station that will be able to destroy smaller pieces and deflect larger, car-sized, objects. The down side to this is that the station will be virtually blind, deaf, and mute as long as the field is active. Once the threat is past, however, Clarke Station will be able to provide us observational data from orbit."

"Admiral, there was mention made before of our research stations on the Moon and Mars," Leigh Paylor, the Secretary of Defense, says as she stands up. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but neither of these bases is threatened by either Shiva or Mjolnir?"

"Correct, Madam Secretary," Mason says, nodding. "Both bases have been curtailing their science and exploration pursuits over the last few months in favor of preparing long term survival strategies. Shackleton on the Moon, Lowell on Mars, and Clarke Station have all been making preparations to sustain themselves on an indefinite basis. It may not be very comfortable for them, but the personnel at all three facilities are aware that it will be at least several years before retrieval efforts can be made."

"Thank you, Admiral. Madam President, would you like the global threat assessment now, or at another time?" Secretary Paylor asks.

"Now is fine, Leigh - go ahead," Janice York says quietly, rubbing her eyes briefly before returning her attention to the briefing.

"Thank you, Madam President. The following is classified Top Secret and is accurate as of three hours ago. Currently, our intelligence indicates that several countries are almost sure to initiate hostilities, up to and including limited nuclear exchanges, concurrent with the anticipated comet and asteroid strikes on July 4th. We anticipate strikes from North Korea against South Korea, Japan and the states of Hawaii and Alaska; Russia against China in the disputed border areas; India against Pakistan; and finally, Iran against Israel. This last has the potential to also draw in Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and Egypt."

"Any luck resolving any of these conflicts through diplomatic means?" Jan asks tiredly.

"Madam President, if I may?" Phillip Abernathy, Janice York's Secretary of State, stands up. "We've been working night and day with the United Nations, trying to resolve these disputes prior to The - prior to July 4th. South Korea is, shall we say, miffed at our sudden troop withdrawal and is just about as stubborn as North Korea is. Russia and China both want us to side against the other, as do India and Pakistan. Israel has made it quite clear that they intend for us to abide by our treaty obligations should they be attacked." He pauses for a moment, pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs his eyes, and continues. "I'm afraid that diplomacy doesn't stand a chance against a comet and an asteroid, Madam President."

Janice York's eyes narrowed in anger. "Alright. Leigh, Phil...here's my response to this lunacy. Inform Pyongyang that any - and I mean ANY - act of aggression towards the United States by North Korea will be met by an immediate, devastating strike on Pyongyang. It may be symbolic - Pyongyang may not even exist any more by that point - but make it clear. If North Korea attacks, we nuke Pyongyang. Got it?"

"Yes, Madam President," both Leigh Paylor and Phil Abernathy say, almost in unison.

"Thank you," Jan says. "General Cresta?"

"Thank you, Madam President." The Secretary for Homeland Security stands up. "Item number one. Our FEMA camps - sorry, Brad, I know that's your field -" Cresta says to the FEMA director, Brad Cartwright, who simply nods without diverting attention from the PADD he was keying "- Anyway, the FEMA camps are all at one hundred percent capacity or better. Voluntary evacuations from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Gulf coasts continue. On that note, Madam President, we simply don't have the manpower or resources to conduct a forced, mandatory evacuation. The folks living in the Tsunami zones either leave on their own, or they don't." At this news Jan simply looks up and nods.

"Item number two," Paul Cresta continues. "Infrastructure protection. We've decentralized the National Grain and Petroleum Reserves to the greatest extent possible. There's still a little work to do on that but we are probably at ninety five percent. Our biggest concern right now is losing communications of all types. As was stated earlier, the only orbital platform that we'll have left is Clarke Station, and even then our communications will be limited to the times it's orbiting over the United States. Cellular phone service will cease to exist, landline service will most likely be local at best and will be limited to physical phone wires and fiber optics. Radio communications will be strictly line of sight. Surface transportation will be extremely limited as well. We can expect to lose roads, bridges, dams, and railway tracks from any combination of seismic, volcanic, and meteorological activity. Forget water transport for the foreseeable future. Aircraft will be most certainly grounded for several weeks following the impacts, and after that flights will still be limited by severe weather phenomena. Doctors Malarkey, Dr. Donner, do you have anything you'd like to add?"

David and Blair Malarkey, along with Frank Donner, stand up. "We haven't changed our stance, weather wise, from earlier briefings," David Malarkey begins. "Unfortunately, we'll have to wait for the actual impacts themselves and observations from Clarke Station before we'll be able to make even the most rudimentary forecasts. But, we can still expect several dozen massive hurricanes world-wide, tornados, and several weeks or even months of torrential rain. Frank, have you anything to add?"

Frank Donner steps forward. Like the Malarkey's, he was blonde and fair skinned, although much stockier in build.

"Geologic activity is much harder to predict than the weather," Frank begins. "So much depends on the exact location of each strike, as well as the size and speed of the impactor. There are four areas of prime concern in the continental United States, geologically speaking - The New Madrid Fault, Yellowstone, the San Andreas Fault, and the Juan de Fuca subduction zone. Impacts on or near any single one of these features could, in theory, trigger earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, or, in the case of Yellowstone, a volcanic super-eruption. If the latter occurs, expect everything East of Wyoming to be totally uninhabitable for years, if not decades, afterwards." Frank paused as a series of shocked gasps ripple through the room.

"Now for the good news," Frank continues, "We don't expect an impact anywhere near Yellowstone. The Pacific Coast, however, will probably not be as lucky. General, I'm through." Frank sits back down as Paul Cresta begins to speak again.

"Thank you, Dr. Donner. Item number three - security. Madam President, executing deserters did greatly slow down the exodus from our services - temporarily. We are seeing a spike forming, however - and we just don't have the manpower to track them down this time. Seems that these Runners are more afraid of the comet than they are of you. We're also getting reports of defections from police, paramedic, and fire services as well. We've received reports of looting and rioting incidents rising over the last few weeks. Madam President, the country is quickly starting to spiral towards anarchy."

Janice York regards Paul Cresta with tired eyes. _I'm so exhausted. Why I ever though being President was a good idea, I'll never know_! She says to herself. "You have suggestions, General?" she asks.

"I do, Madam President. Concentrate our available resources - military, government, vital public service - with first priority going to Colorado Springs and Cheyenne Mountain, and second priority towards the FEMA camps and our disbursement centers for the National Grain and Petroleum Reserves - and leave the rest of the country to do the best that they can. I know you don't like this plan, Madam President -" Paul says quickly, seeing the objections rising up in his President "- but from where both myself and Defense sit, it's the only viable option right now. Once the worst is past and our priority areas are under control, we can work to re-establish controls one region at a time."

"No - of course, you're right, Paul." Jan turns and beckons to two people seated close behind her. "Dan, you and Amanda work with General Cresta, Mr. Cartwright, and Secretary Paylor on the details of this concentration of resources." Dan Crane and Amanda Dalton, Chief of Staff and Deputy Chief of Staff to the President, nod silently, then rise and gather up the FEMA director, along with the Homeland Security and Defense Secretaries, and disappear into a side room.

"Alright, does anyone have anything else?" Jan asks.

"Just one thing, Madam President." A large, well dressed man rises from the area where the 'Brain Trust' was sitting. "Morgan Boggs, Madam President. I'm the 'Brain Trust' shrink. General Cresta asked me to prepare a preliminary psychological assessment."

Janice slumps back in her chair, obviously tired, but waves him on. "Of course, Doctor. Please continue."

"Thank you, Madam President. I can give you a lot of psychological double talk on how the average citizen will react - but in the end it will boil down to two classes of people - the haves and the have nots. The haves are those that carefully prepared for this event - stockpiling food, water, and consumables, banding with their neighbors, and doing everything humanly possible to stave off disaster. The have nots are those that do little or nothing to prepare and expect the government to come to their aid once the comet and asteroid strike. When such aid is not forthcoming - and, from this briefing today, it won't be for quite some time - these people too will band together - to take what they need from the haves. Madam President, what you'll be looking at in the weeks and months following July 4th are dozens, even hundreds, of little wars popping up all over what remains of the United States. You can expect lawlessness, brigandry...even cannibalism." At the mention of cannibalism there was a horrified gasp from the people assembled in the Cabinet Room. Morgan Boggs pauses until the minor furor dies down.

"Yes, Madam President - cannibalism. The have nots will probably have, at best, a two day supply of food that they can rely on. And this brigandry is starting already." Boggs pauses and picks up his PADD and taps the screen a few times.

"I have here a report that General Cresta shared with me just a short time ago. It seems that, just a few hours ago, there was a shoot-out in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, between four known gang members and a Sergeant from the Jefferson County, Arkansas, Sheriff's Department. It seems that the Sergeant was fishing the Arkansas River with his two sons when they were accosted while attempting to dock their boat. All four gang members were killed. The Sergeant and his two sons were not injured physically. The apparent target of this robbery attempt was a creel containing fifteen rainbow trout."

There is dead silence in the Cabinet Room for long seconds, then Janice York says, "Thank you, Dr. Boggs. Do you have anything else?" Boggs shakes his head. "Anyone else?" Silence. "Alright, then. We have work to do. Thanks for coming, everyone." Janice turns to pick up her PADD as the assembled group breaks up to leave. She suddenly becomes aware of Amanda Dalton standing behind her.

"Madam President, I'm sorry, but Mr. Crane asked me to come out and remind you that you have a meeting in -" she consults her watch -" fifteen minutes with Congressman Thread and Senator Everdeen."

Janice sighs heavily. "Thanks, Amanda. Any word on exactly what the Speaker of the House and the Senate Minority Leader wish to discuss with me?"

"No, ma'am - sorry. I can check with Mr. Crane if you like -" Janice puts out her hand.

"Never mind, Amanda. Not necessary. Thanks again." Amanda turns and goes back to the meeting she had been in with her immediate boss, the Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security, and the FEMA Director. Janice sighs and turns to leave the Cabinet Room as her personal secretary falls in next to her, schedule in hand.

_The end of the world is coming in two weeks, and I still have to play politics with assholes_, she says to herself.

**JUST OUTSIDE FALCON, COLORADO - NOON, FRIDAY, JUNE 20TH, 2070 - TWO WEEKS TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR**

The Sheriff's Patrol Car sits on the side of the road, lights flashing, as the young Deputy Sheriff speaks to the large, deeply tanned man standing by the front bumper of the car. In the background, a large van with the words 'EL PASO COUNTY CORONER' painted on the side sits, rear doors open, as two other deputies wheel a covered gurney to the van and begin to load it in the back. An ambulance sitting nearby suddenly activates its emergency lights and siren and speeds off in the direction of Colorado Springs.

"Mr. Flickerman? May I see your gun, sir?" the young deputy asks respectfully. Stuart Flickerman wordlessly pulls his pistol from his shoulder holster, slides the magazine out, and works the slide, ejecting the cartridge. He hands the pistol and magazine over to the deputy, then bends down and retrieves the cartridge, which he then hands to the deputy.

The deputy thanks him and then says, "Normally, we'd book the gun and ammo in as evidence, even though this is without a doubt a self defense shooting. But, times being what they are and all, my Sergeant just told me to get the make, model, serial number and caliber for the report." Stuart nods wordlessly and stares at the Coroner van as the back doors slam shut. A moment later, the van starts up and drives off in the same direction as the ambulance.

An older deputy approaches Stuart. "You okay, Stu?" he asks, concern in his voice.

"Yeah," Stu answers simply, then, "Dumb shit didn't give me any choice. He cut Connor pretty bad - then came at me. Even after I'd drawn on him he still kept coming at me." Stu's voice trembles a bit as he tells the story. "Son of a bitch, I didn't want to do it!" he suddenly yells, causing the young deputy filling out paperwork to jump in alarm.

The older deputy puts his hand on Stu's shoulder. "I know you didn't," he says gently. "Some of these refugees - well, they don't think straight. Sure wish we could figure out a way to keep 'em in their camps."

"Everyone's scared," Stu whispers. "When can I go in to see my boy?"

"They just took him to the hospital, Stu. Once we get done here you can head to the Springs and see him. Connor's a tough kid, Stu - he'll be okay."

"He's only sixteen. Shit." Stu says miserably. "Damn. I can't leave my place. Not Trudy and I both. We can't leave Tamara here alone." Just then both men hear the high pitched whine of a pair of All Terrain Vehicle motors approaching. They turn and see two men approaching, rifles slung across their backs, as they slow to a stop.

"Stu! What the hell happened? We heard shots - but we didn't get a signal from you!" the older of the two men, a florid faced man with sandy blonde hair, says.

"Easy, Elliott. We had some trouble here. It's all over." Stu says tiredly. Quickly he relays to the two men what had happened.

"Who's the surgeon?" Elliott demands. Stu looks at him and laughs bitterly.

"I've got no friggin' clue, 'Doc' Heavensbee," he says with gentle sarcasm. "I'm sure Connor's gonna be okay, though."

"We're all done here," the young deputy says, handing Stu his pistol and magazine. "Sir, we'll be in touch if we need anything else." Stu nods and mumbles his thanks. The older deputy comes over and puts his hand on Stu's shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, Stu. Listen, you got Elliott and Bobby here - why don't you run into the Springs and see Connor? Guys, can you watch Stu's place - and Tamara - for a few hours?"

"Of course," says Elliott. "Sure thing," says Bobby.

"Okay," Stu says. "Thanks, guys." Together the three men head to Stu's compound, after thanking the two deputies still standing by their car.

"Okay, we're done here," the older deputy says, and turns to get into the patrol car. The younger deputy slides behind the wheel, and quickly checks the screen of the cars data terminal.

"Shit. Listen to this." he says. "A Pine Bluff, Arkansas, Sheriff's Sergeant, and his two sons, were involved in a shoot out this morning on the Arkansas River with four gang bangers - over a creel full of trout! All four gang bangers dead. The Sergeant and his kids were uninjured."

The older deputy laughs humorlessly. "Four dead in Pine Bluff over some fish - one dead in Falcon, Colorado, over potatoes and carrots."

The two deputies raise their hands and wave as they see Stu and Trudy Flickerman drive by them on the way to the hospital to see their son.

"Think the kid's gonna be okay?" the younger deputy asks.

"Connor? Yeah. Some defensive wounds on his hands, superficial stab wounds in his shoulder and upper chest. I wouldn't be surprised if the kid's home by morning." the older deputy replies. "Start 'er up. Let's roll. You got a report to write."

As the car pulls away, the older deputy glances behind him one last time. "Two weeks to go and people are already goin' fuckin' crazy."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6 - APOCALYPSE SOON**

**CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN SECURITY ZONE - BASE CAMP MURPHY, COMPANY B, 1ST BATTALION, 15TH INFANTRY REGIMENT, 3RD MECHANIZED INFANTRY DIVISION - 8:30 P.M., MONDAY, JUNE 30TH, 2070 **

**FOUR DAYS TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR**

Staff Sergeant Jamie Wise sat on a small folding chair, squinting at the screen of the PADD she had balanced on her leg, tapping at the virtual keyboard display as she laboriously completed her squad's daily status summary. A quick glance at her watch showed her that she still had 30 minutes to complete her report and get it to her Platoon Sergeant.

"Freakin' worlds' comin' to an end in four days, and we _still_ have to file reports," she mutters under her breath, consulting her notepad for her daily hydrogen consumption figures, then transferring that information to her report. A lantern hung from the center pole of the tent, casting a soft yellow light down on Jamie. She glanced over at the empty cot in the tent. Zack Clark, her Assistant Squad Leader, was still in the hospital, recovering from an attack by refugees outside the Manitou Springs FEMA Camp three days before.

Jamie rubbed her eyes, thinking back to the incident. They had found the small group of refugees about a kilometer outside the camp, in clear violation of the latest set of curfew restrictions. Zack had dismounted, unarmed, to speak with the group and tell them that they needed to return to their camp. The vast majority of refugees, confronted with an armed Infantry squad and a Stryker combat vehicle, would comply without incident, but _this_ group decided that they had been pushed around by the government as much as they were willing to take.

Jamie quickly called for backup from the El Paso County Sheriff's Department as she saw the argument between Zack and the group escalate. Just as she was spinning her turret towards the refugees and ordering the dismount element out to assist Zack, she watched in horror as one of the men pulled out a short handled club and swung it viciously at Zack's head.

Zack went down immediately, and the group set on him, pummeling him with whatever they could get their hands on. Zack immediately curled into a ball as Jamie, acting on instinct, quickly worked the charging handle of the big fifty caliber machine gun and sent a warning burst into the ground directly behind the refugees.

Everybody, including her dismount team, jerked in surprise as the huge machine gun thundered out the burst. Keying the public address system mounted in her combat vehicle, she ordered the refugees to drop their weapons and to lay face down on the ground. She could have saved that last part - every single refugee was face down, hands over their heads, from the single machine gun burst.

A few minutes later, the Sheriff's Patrol Car pulled up to the scene. Fortunately, Zack had been wearing full body armor so that helped cushion the effect of the blows on his body, but he had taken several direct blows to his helmet. Against his protests, Jamie called for medevac, and in a matter of minutes a single engine medevac hoverplane was landing and collecting Zack. The El Paso County Sheriff's deputies decided, after consulting with both Zack and Jamie, to take the man that struck the first blow into custody. The other refugees were escorted back to their camp under the watchful eye of Jamie Wise, as well as her dismount team.

Zack had suffered a concussion, as well as bruises and lacerations on his face, chest, back and arms. Jamie had gone to see him earlier in the evening and had been happy to hear that he was being released to light duty the next morning.

"Pain in the ass doin' these dailies without your help, Zack," she says softly as she finishes entering the last of the data. Then, praying that everything was correct, she saves the report and hits the "Send" button, grinning when the confirmation of receipt of her message flashes on the screen.

That task done, she tosses the PADD onto her cot and grabs up her toilet kit and towel. Time for a shower, and maybe even a beer or two at the rec tent. However, as she steps outside her tent, towel draped around her neck, she's stopped by a figure striding quickly across the compound, calling her name. Jamie squints at the approaching figure, then straightens up involuntarily when she sees the uniform of an Air Force Security Forces Captain.

"Staff Sergeant Wise?" A feminine voice called out again. Jamie examined the stranger. The Captain was of medium height and, as far as Jamie could tell through the bulky combat uniform, had an athletic build. She was wearing the patch of the Cheyenne Complex Security Forces. As far as Jamie could remember, she had never met this Captain before.

"Yes, ma'am?" Jamie replied, assuming a respectful posture - not quite the position of attention, but not completely relaxed, either.

"Oh, good. Took me a while to track you down." Jamie's eyes widen a bit when she spots the strangers name tag above the right uniform pocket. "Hope I'm not keeping you from anything."

"Just a shower and a beer, ma'am," Jamie replied truthfully. The Captain laughed - a pleasant sound - at Jamie's candor.

"This won't take long, I promise. Is there someplace we can talk?" The Captain asked. Jamie indicated her tent with her hand, and followed the Captain inside. Once in the tent, Jamie pulled the door flaps shut and gestured towards Zack's empty cot, then sat on her own cot once the Captain sat down.

"I would have come earlier, but it's been insane in the mountain, what with the relocation of all Federal government services to the Cheyenne Complex." The stranger says. She sticks out her hand. "I'm Susanna Snow."

Jamie clasps Captain Snow's hand without hesitation. "I know. A pleasure, Captain." She says guardedly.

Susanna Snow laughs lightly as the two women shake hands briefly. "That's probably not what's really going through your mind, Sergeant - but that's okay."

"I can pretty much guess, Captain," Jamie replies.

"Where are you from, Sergeant?" Susanna asks suddenly.

"Dalton, Georgia, ma'am," Jamie answers in surprise. Susanna Snow nods thoughtfully.

"I thought I picked up a Georgia accent. I'm from Pennsylvania, myself. Anyway, that's not why I'm hear." Susanna sits up a little straighter on the cot. "I need to talk to you about my brother."

"I thought so, Captain," Jamie says carefully.

"I don't condone what he did," Susanna says. "I graduated from the Air Force Academy - just up the road from here, in fact - six years ago. I tend to take that Duty, Honor, Country shit pretty seriously."

Jamie grins at the bluntness of the officer sitting across from her. "So do I, Captain. But I don't think Runner does."

"Runner? Is that what you call him?" Susanna says with a smile.

"Runner, Snowflake, Snowball, and, if he really pisses me off - Shithead." Jamie found herself returning the other woman's smile and decided that she liked her.

"Sergeant, I could tell that, once you knew who I was, that you expected me to maybe ask for some special consideration for Ricky. I want you to know that that's the farthest thing from my mind. In fact, I really hope that you ride his ass constantly." Susanna looks at Jamie thoughtfully. "You know, you look _nothing_ like what Ricky described."

"I'm almost afraid to ask, Captain," Jamie says.

"Let's just say I had visions of a fire breather, standing two meters tall, grizzled hair, with fangs dripping blood." Susanna says with a laugh. Her laugh was infectious and Jamie finds herself joining in.

"Actually, he did describe you as 'one tough bitch,'" Susanna went on. "And I think that's exactly what he needs right now. Sergeant, my family is - well, let's say that we've always been pretty well off. My older sister is married to a pretty influential Senator -" at this Jamie nods "- and my younger brother was spoiled rotten by our parents. I still can't figure out for the life of me why he decided to join the Army! He's not exactly what I would call 'ideal soldier material.'"

"No, ma'am, that he ain't," Jamie agrees.

"I was the middle child," Susanna says, "So I had to work hard for everything I got. Oh, hell, call me stubborn, but I was damned if I was gonna have everything just handed to me! So I got the appointment to the Academy and here I am now."

"So, what is it you want from me, Captain?" Jamie asks cautiously.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. I know my brother, and I'm sure that he'll try to use our older sister to run interference for him. Here's my number -" Susanna hands Jamie her business card with several phone numbers written on the back "- and I want you to call me if you suddenly start getting orders or directives regarding my brother that indicate that he may be pulling some political strings someplace."

Jamie looks at the card in surprise. "Thank you, ma'am," is all she can think to say.

Susanna stands up. "Okay, I've wasted enough of your evening. I need to head back to the complex anyway." She sticks her hand out. "It's been a real pleasure meeting you - Jamie."

Jamie takes Captain Snow's hand and shakes it firmly. "Likewise, Captain," she says with a grin.

"Susanna," Captain Snow says quietly. "At least in private, like this. I think that military discipline and tradition won't shatter completely if we use our first names - especially considering that we both have the same cross to bear, and his name is Richard Snow."

"Okay - Susanna," Jamie says with another grin. The two women step outside the tent. Susanna glances up at the comet, now dominating the night sky completely. Susanna sets her cap on her head, and, as she tucks a few stray strands of hair under her cap, Jamie notices for the first time that her hair is streaked with gray, in stark contrast to Susanna's otherwise dark hair.

Susanna notices Jamie intently examining her and laughs. "You noticed my racing stripes?"

Embarrassed, Jamie just nods. "Oh, don't worry about it. Believe me, I'm really only twenty-eight years old. Going prematurely gray seems to be a Snow family trait. You wouldn't know it from looking at my sister Charlotte - vain as she is, she's been coloring her hair for years - but if Ricky and I live through this -" she indicates the comet hovering overhead "- our hair will be completely white by the time we're forty." Susanna turns to go.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening - and remember to call if you need to." She says as she disappears into the darkness.

Jamie sighs heavily, ducks into her tent, and emerges with her toilet kit and towel. As she walks towards the showers, she glances upwards several times at Shiva, seemingly bearing down straight towards her.

_That beer's gonna taste good tonight_, she says to herself.

**THE OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C. - 11:00 A.M., TUESDAY, JULY 1ST, 2070 - THREE DAYS TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR**

"My fellow Americans. In light of the recent increase of incidents involving civil disobedience, rioting, looting, and general mayhem which has been sweeping across our great nation, it was with great reluctance that I signed Presidential Executive Order Number 2070-057 just three hours ago." Janice York pauses, looking directly into the cameras facing her desk. _Dear Lord, I'm so tired. I hope history will be able to forgive me, _she says to herself before continuing.

"Please know and understand that I signed this order with enormous reluctance. Only the pre-emptive dispersal of the Senate and House of Representatives, along with the unique and immediate threat that is inexorably approaching our planet, have motivated me, as your President, to take such drastic measures as you are about to hear. I will now read to you each measure included in this Executive Order. Please bear in mind that each of these measures is, until the impending crisis has passed and until our way of life, as we now know it, can return to normal - each of these measures are to be considered law, and will be enforced." Janice pauses again, trying without success to quell the trembling in her hands as she stares at the teleprompter.

"One. Martial law is declared effective immediately. The National Guard and Reserve is hereby federalized. All local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies will cooperate fully with local military authorities. Military authority takes precedence over all local aw enforcement jurisdiction."

"Two. A national sundown to sunrise curfew is in effect immediately. Anyone caught in violation of curfew without possessing a valid curfew pass, issued by the local military authority, will be arrested immediately and will remain in custody of the local military authority pending an appearance in front of a tribunal."

"Three. Until further notice, all criminal judicial matters will be referred to the local military authority. Military tribunals will be convened to hear criminal matters on an as needed basis. Local, state, and federal Criminal and Civil Courts, to include State Supreme Courts and the United States Supreme Court, are suspended for the duration of the crisis."

"Four. In cooperation with the Federal Communications Commission, effective immediately all commercial and non-government radio and television transmissions are prohibited for the duration of the crisis. This does not include HAM or Citizen's Band radio's already licensed by the FCC. All commercial radio and television stations will be used solely for the transmission of necessary information that relates to the impending crisis and our recovery."

"Five. Effective immediately, all non-government travel by powered means, to include motorcycle or motor-driven cycle, all terrain vehicles of all types, car, bus, train, aircraft, or watercraft, is prohibited for the duration of the crisis. This restriction does not include transportation powered by human, animal, or wind."

"Six. The Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms will be subject to interpretation by the local military command authority. Military commanders have already been advised to use a great deal of leeway when enforcing this provision. We understand that there are many areas where an armed citizenry is not only desirable, but essential to the survival and well-being of the residents of that community. However, local military authorities may, under their own authority, confiscate weapons and ammunition if extraordinary circumstances arise."

"Seven. Commerce of consumable items, such as food, potable water, fuels of all kinds, batteries and other energy storage devices, is suspended for the duration of the crisis. Commercial businesses such as supermarkets, grocery stores, fuel stations, hardware stores, convenience stores, and general merchandise stores are directed to surrender their inventory to the local military authority. The local military authority will have the responsibility for the disbursement and rationing of all consumable items."

"Eight. Hoarding of essential consumable goods, such as food, potable water, and fuels of all kind, _already not in private possession_, is prohibited effective immediately. Consumables already in private possession are to be considered private property and are not - and I say this again - _are not_ subject to seizure by local military authority. It is not the intent of this administration to punish those persons or organizations that demonstrated prudence and foresight in preparing for this crisis. However, the local military authority may take into account existing private caches of consumable goods when preparing rationing plans. Persons caught hoarding essential consumable goods after today may be punished as the local military authority deems fit."

"Nine. For the duration of this crisis, the local military authority may require able bodied private citizens to participate and assist with public works that, when completed, will be of benefit to the community at large. These public works include, but are not limited to: construction and repair of roads, bridges, dams, railway rights-of-way, and airfields; planting, tending, and harvesting crops, to include livestock of all kinds; mining of essential minerals; harvesting timber; construction, maintenance, repair, and operation of power generation equipment; and many other tasks too numerous to list here."

Janice pauses and takes a deep breath before reading the final measure. "Ten. The local military authority has been granted permission to shoot looters on sight. Private citizens are encouraged to report all discoveries of stockpiles or caches of property to the local military authority for proper disposition."

"My fellow Americans, it is my sincere desire that these measures are temporary at best, and rest assured, this Executive Order will be rescinded by the National Command Authority as quickly as possible. Please stay tuned following my address for a listing of telephone numbers and locations of the nearest local military authority and FEMA office. Thank you, God bless, and good luck to each and every one of you."

Janice kept focused on the camera until she saw the red light wink out and heard the director say, "Okay, Madam President - you're off."

Janice allows herself to slump back in her chair as Dan Crane, her Chief of Staff, and Amanda Dalton, his Deputy, step to her desk.

Janice eyes the pair wanly. "Did you hear that sound?" she asks.

Dan and Amanda look at each other in confusion before turning back to their Commander in Chief. "Uhh, I'm sorry, Madam President - what sound?" Dan asks.

"Why, the sound of me putting the Constitution of the United States through a paper shredder, Dan!" Janice replies tiredly.

"Madam President, you aren't the first Chief Executive to be forced to -" Amanda Dalton begins.

Janice waves her hand dismissively at Amanda. "I know, I know, Amanda - 'good of the nation, only temporary, desperate times call for desperate measures, yada yada yada.' It still hurts when you have to do it." Janice pulls herself to her feet and heads towards the Oval Office door, gesturing for her two primary assistants to follow her.

Dan and Amanda fall in step with Janice as they head quickly to her private office. Once inside, Janice sits and invites Dan and Amanda to take seats.

"Bring me up to date on the government relocation," she says, while tapping on a PADD in front of her.

"The Legislative and Judicial branches have all dispersed to their home states whenever possible - with the exceptions, of course, of those Pacific Coast, Gulf Coast, and Atlantic Seaboard states that are threatened by mega-tsunamis. The Executive branch, to include primary cabinet members and the Joint Chiefs, as well as the Vice President, are in place at Cheyenne Mountain. Assistant Secretaries, Undersecretaries, and other staffers have followed the same dispersal plan as I've just stated for Legislative and Judicial. In effect, Madam President, the only government that remains in D.C. is you." Amanda glances up from her PADD as she finishes reciting her information.

Janice nods thoughtfully. "And how quickly can the White House be evacuated?"

"Marine One will be standing by on the South Lawn, Madam President," Dan Crane replies. "We can be wheels up in less than two minutes. The same with Air Force One at Andrews. Still, I would not recommend loitering any longer than necessary."

Janice regards her two assistants thoughtfully. _Time to drop one last bombshell on them_, she says to herself.

"I want you two at Cheyenne Mountain by Thursday at the latest," Janice says firmly, anticipating the opposition that she would get from her two trusted staffers. She unlocks a drawer in her desk, opens the drawer, and removes a PADD. She hands the PADD to Dan, who takes it with a look of confusion on his face.

"And when will you be leaving D.C., Madam President?" Dan asks evenly.

Janice takes a deep breath and pauses before answering, "I'm not."

"But - but - you _can't_ stay here! D.C. is gonna get flattened! Madam President...Jan...I must insist that you evacuate -" Dan stammers, a look of shock on his face. Calmly, Jan raises her hand to silence him. Red-faced, Dan finally sputters to an uneasy silence. Next to him, Amanda Dalton is speechless - numb with shock at what she has just heard.

"On that PADD is everything needed, according to the Chief Justice, to transfer the office of the President and the National Command Authority to Vice President Cray. In a nutshell, he is to assume the office of President once all communication is severed between Cheyenne Mountain and the White House. I've already spoken with him so he's aware of it. The Chief Justice has already re-located to Cheyenne Mountain and will administer the oath immediately upon confirmation that all communication links have been severed." Jan regards her two primary assistants calmly. _I wish there were some other way to do this,_ she says to herself.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Amanda sobs out, unable to control her emotions any more.

"Amanda - Dan. Both of you, please listen to me." Jan feels her own tears building as she speaks. "I've dedicated my entire adult life to public service, and I was proud - damned proud - when I was elected to the Presidency. Now, what I do I do for purely selfish reasons. I don't want to have to live with being the President that lost our country."

"Madam President - Jan - with all due respect, that's total horseshit!" Dan snaps. "You're not 'losing' anything! You've done everything humanly possible to preserve this country! You aren't sitting idly by, wringing your hands and just waiting for that - that thing to fall! And this country will need you once things return to normal!"

"And when will that be, Dan?" Jan asks calmly. "You heard the Brain Trust predictions. Total global weather disruption for two to five years after the impacts. Do you know what that means? Impact Winter, that's what that means! Virtually no Spring, Summer or Fall for two to five years after impact! Do you have any idea how many survivors will starve? Do you? No growing seasons to speak of for _years_! People are gonna go to war, right here in the United States - for food! Rice wars, potato wars, corn wars, wheat wars!" Janice was on the verge of hyperventilating and suddenly went silent except for her labored breathing.

"But someone - you - need to be there to start to rebuild -" Amanda began gently. Dan looks at his Deputy in alarm. _The boss is losing it_, he says to himself.

"Don't either of you understand? _There won't be anything left to rebuild!_ All that'll be left is the Cheyenne Mountain complex - that is, of course, if it doesn't get hit! That, and whatever's left in the rest of what used to be the United States, once everyone stops killing each other over Spam and canned beans!" Janice pauses and looks at Dan and Amanda sadly. "I had this epiphany a while back. Listening to the Brain Trust project tsunami damage, weather damage, impact damage, infrastructure collapse - look, whatever will be left five years from now, it won't be the United States of America."

"You don't really believe that," Dan says in a flat voice. Janice stands up from behind her desk, and walks around to the front to stand with her two assistants.

"Oh, but I do, Dan," Jan says quietly. "There will be survivors, and eventually we will be able to start to plant and harvest crops. But that will be years from now. Am I being selfish? Yes, I am. Cray - Alex Cray is a good man. Steady. No flash, but that's not what we will need. I'm sure he will find your help invaluable. Please. Don't fight me on this." Janice puts an arm around Dan and Amanda's shoulders. "Us three, we've been through a lot together. You need to be there to help Cray and the others build this New America."

Janice suddenly hugs first Dan, then Amanda. "I love both of you. I wanted you both to know that. Now go on. I have work to do and I know you have work to do."

Deflated, Dan and Amanda both simply mutter, "Yes, Madam President," before walking out of the room.

Janice walks over to the opened door and spots her secretary, looking back at her, a puzzled expression on her face. Jan smiles at the older woman fondly.

"Barb, can you do me a favor?" Jan asks suddenly.

"Of course, Madam President," her secretary answers immediately.

"Can you - can you call Henri Liege in Mont-Laurier, Quebec? I - I would like very much to talk to my children," Jan says quietly.

Barb smiles at her boss fondly. "At once, Madam President. I'll buzz you once I've completed the call."

"Thank you," Janice says, as she closes her office door.

**BETHEL PARK, PENNSYLVANIA - 6:30 P.M., WEDNESDAY, JULY 2ND, 2070 - TWO DAYS TO SHIVA/MJOLNIR **

The woman and her teenaged male companion climb awkwardly from the back of the military transport truck, then thank the soldiers riding in the back of the transport as their belongings are handed down to them. A young soldier comes around from the front of the vehicle and stands awkwardly as the couple retrieve their bags. The woman turns toward the soldier, a questioning look in her eyes.

"Sergeant, correct me if I'm wrong, but this looks nothing like Cleveland." The woman says gently.

"I - I'm sorry, ma'am. My lieutenant just got the word himself. Our unit's been diverted. We aren't headed anywhere near Cleveland now." The sergeant looked truly apologetic.

"So...what happens now?" The woman asks brightly, trying to mask the dread that she was feeling.

"I was told there's a refugee center a couple blocks that way - maybe they can help. I'm really sorry, ma'am!" The sergeant says. Suddenly the transport's horn honks twice, loudly, and a voice from the front of the vehicle calls out, "Mount up! Rolling in one minute!"

The sergeant glances over his shoulder, then back at the woman and boy. "That's me, ma'am - I gotta go. Good luck!" he calls out, sprinting for the front of the truck.

"Thanks for the lift!" the woman calls out, stepping onto the sidewalk as the truck starts to roll. She turns and looks at the boy next to her.

"Guess we find that refugee center," she says brightly. The boy only shakes his head, his face dark with anger.

"How can they just _leave_ us here? It's not right!," the boy exclaims. "I wish Dad were here!"

The woman sighs. "You and me both, kiddo. Come on." She extends the handle on the large suitcase and begins to drag it on its rollers down the sidewalk. The boy, after a moments' hesitation, grabs his own bag and follows suit.

The woman, athletic, dark-haired, and in her late thirties, asks a passer-by for directions to the refugee center. Satisfied that they were headed in the right direction, she beckons for the boy to follow her. The youth - tall, well-built, with the same dark hair as the woman, follows sullenly.

"This must be it," the woman says, indicating a building with a large sign in front that read "REFUGEE CENTER."

"Yay," the boy says unenthusiastically, then, "Why don't you just tell someone who Dad is? Maybe that will get us to Cleveland. _This_ place certainly won't!"

"Victor, you know how your father is about people that 'drop names.' Now, simmer!" the woman snaps at the boy, who glares at her but says nothing more. "Come on," the woman says, opening the door.

The pair glance around the room, and see a desk with a large sign that read 'CHECK IN." Without a backward glance the woman strides purposefully towards the desk. A bored-looking clerk glances up at them as the woman and boy approach.

"I.D.'s, please," she says, tapping on the screen of a PADD in front of her. The woman and boy both hand over their I.D. cards. The clerk takes the woman's card and swipes it through the reader. "Name, please?"

"Hawthorne. Victoria Gail Hawthorne." the woman replies. The clerk examines the screen, nods, and swipes the boy's card. "Your name?" she asks.

"Victor John Hawthorne." The clerk nods and taps on the PADD, then looks up.

"And where are you two coming from?" she asks.

"Colorado Springs," Victoria answers. At this the clerk looks up, startled.

"I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say Colorado Springs," the clerk says, puzzled.

"I did," Victoria answers. "My husband is there. My son and I left yesterday to go to Cleveland - that's where our home is - to pick up some belongings and return to the Springs, but we got caught up in these new travel restrictions. We literally got stranded in Atlanta when the President decreed only official travel. It was only dumb luck that we managed to hitch rides with some military convoys -"

"That, and the commanders recognized Dad's name," Victor interrupted, earning him a glare from his mother.

"- as I was saying, some convoys gave us rides but now we're stuck here in - by the way, _where_ are we?" Victoria asks.

The clerk looks at the pair sympathetically. "You're in Bethel Park, Pennsylvania," she says softly. "Listen, I was told to let my supervisors know if any refugees came in from - unusual places. Will you excuse me for a moment? And please have a seat."

"Of course," Veronica mutters, sitting down as the clerk picks up the phone. After a few minutes of waiting impatiently, Victoria notices a woman about her same age walking toward them quickly. As she neared the desk the woman extends her hand. Victoria stands up and the two women shake hands briefly.

"Mrs. Hawthorne? Your husband is Dr. Jack Hawthorne?" the woman asks.

"That's right," Victoria says cautiously. She and her son both had experienced people angry with her husband for "finding" the comet and asteroid that were now less than two days from impacting the Earth.

"I'm Charlotte Everdeen. My husband's Senator Michael Everdeen." the woman says, introducing herself.

"A pleasure, Mrs. Everdeen," Victoria says. She recognized the name. Michael Everdeen was the Senate Minority Leader and had been a strong supporter of the PAN-STARRS observatory.

"Anyway, you and your son aren't exactly run-of-the-mill refugees," Charlotte says. "I understand your husband is still at Cheyenne Mountain?"

"Yes, he is," Victoria says, and quickly relays the story of her travel difficulties to Charlotte. "Mrs. Everdeen, I'm desperate to get back to Colorado Springs. Is there anything you can do for my son and I?"

The other woman shakes her head sadly. "I'm afraid not. I've been helping out FEMA - I worked for them briefly years ago, before I was married - and as such, I have a vehicle at my disposal - something my husband doesn't even have at the moment - but hoverplanes are out of the question."

At this news Victoria slumped back in her chair and felt the tears come. She was dimly aware of her son hugging her - was he crying too? - and another pair of arms as well. Through her tears she was surprised to see Charlotte Everdeen hugging her as well.

"Listen," Charlotte says. "There's no way we're dumping you off at the FEMA camp. I really am sorry that we can't get you back to the Springs - but in the meantime, would you accept an invitation to my home? There's more than enough room."

"Oh, I really - we really couldn't impose," Victoria protests weakly.

Charlotte smiles at the other woman. "No imposition at all. The place is _huge_! And Victor - that's right, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am - but it's Vic," the boy answers.

"Vic, I have a daughter about your age," Charlotte says with a grin. "Now, come on, you two. We'll get you home, you can clean up, have some dinner - I bet you're both hungry - and you can call your husband." Charlotte turns and gestures for a pair of workers, who hurry over.

"Yes, ma'am?" One of the men says.

"Can you put these bags in my car, please? Thank you," Charlotte says. Nodding, the men pick up the bags and disappear through a side door.

"I haven't been able to talk to Jack since yesterday," Victoria admits. "Both mine and my son's phones died and we haven't been able to re-charge them. I can't thank you enough, Mrs. Everdeen."

"It's Charlotte," the other woman says with a smile. "Now come on. We're still subject to curfew, even though my husband's a Senator and yours is part of the Brain Trust." Charlotte leads them both to a waiting car outside a side door.

"It's Victoria - or Vicky, if you prefer," Victoria says, returning her smile. The three climb into the waiting car. Once the doors are closed, the driver turns to Charlotte.

"Where to, ma'am?" he asks.

"Home, please," Charlotte replies, then turns to the couple sitting in the back. "Once we get you two cleaned up and fed, maybe you can give my husband and I updates on what's happening at Cheyenne Mountain. My sister and brother are there, you know."

"Oh, really?" Victoria says. "Where do they work?

"My sister is with the Air Force. Complex security. She's a captain. My brother is a - is in the Army. He's assigned to a Stryker Infantry Squad. Perhaps you've met one or both of them? Susanna and Richard Snow?" Charlotte asks hopefully.

As the car drives down the rapidly deserting street, Victoria looks at her son, who shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm sorry - the name Snow just doesn't sound familiar," Victoria says apologetically.

**A/N - Stay tuned - Armageddon is coming up!**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7 - THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS**

**THE EARTH - FRIDAY, JULY 4TH, 2070 - ARMAGEDDON**

_The first fragment of Comet Shiva - a kilometer wide chunk of ice, rock and volatile chemicals - slammed into the Bay of Bengal exactly as predicted, at 9:18 P.M. local time. Traveling in excess of fifty kilometers per second, the fragment cut through the atmosphere at a forty-five degree angle on a roughly southeast to northwest path. The fragment begins to glow at an altitude of over one hundred fifty kilometers, heating rapidly from friction as it passes through the atmosphere. In less than two second it's already as bright as the noonday sun, but the incandescence only lasts for a few more seconds, until the fragment impacts the shallow water._

_At such a tremendous speed, the fragment cuts through the water with ease, slams into the sea floor, and explodes as the stored kinetic energy is released in an instant, creating a new, false sun that seems to rise directly from the ocean floor. This false sun, over sixteen kilometers in diameter, glows brightly for almost four minutes before fading. The force of the impact actually creates a crater over eighteen kilometers across in the water itself, and another, somewhat smaller crater in the sea floor. The shock wave radiates from the impact at near-supersonic speeds, blasting winds that make the strongest hurricanes feel like gentle spring breezes. In an instant, billions of tons of sea water are vaporized, condensing into dark, roiling clouds immediately above the fireball and spreading outward in all directions. Lightning begins to flash almost immediately._

_The mega-tsunami measures over thirty meters high as it races in all directions from the point of impact, following the same path as the impact shock wave, while a magnitude 7.7 earthquake radiates outward through the ocean floor. The quake travels faster than either the shock wave or tsunami, shaking the residents of Patheln, Sandoway, and Sittwe in Myanmar, Chittagong and Dhaka in Bangladesh, and Kolkata, Cuttack, Brahmapur, and Vishakhapatnam in India. For the coastal residents of all three countries, still densely populated in spite of repeated warnings to evacuate, all they can do is wait - and hope._

_The wait does not last long. Less than an hour after the impact-quake, the shock wave arrives with hurricane force winds, followed almost instantly by the first of several mega-tsunamis. As the tsunamis approached landfall, they slow considerably as they draw in the shallow coastal water, building heights ten times what they were on the open ocean. The coasts of Myanmar, Bangladesh, and India don't stand a chance. The tsunamis are so massive and powerful that they even managed to sweep across the Isthmus of Kra into Thailand and the Gulf of Thailand, pummeling both Thailand and Cambodia. Bangkok is flattened as a wall of water approaching one hundred meters high in places - choked with debris ranging from bricks, to human bodies, to cars, trucks and buses, even entire buildings, giving the wave the consistency of wet concrete - slams into the ancient city._

_The waves march southward, slamming into the Malaysian Peninsula, Malaysia, and Sumatra to the East, and the island of Sri Lanka to the Southwest. As the waves finally retreat, they pull millions of corpses out to sea with them. The human toll is incalculable but certainly numbers in the hundreds of millions. And, as the waves continue to pummel and drown whole countries, the first of several cyclones spins to life over the steaming Bay of Bengal crater, to further wreak havoc in the region - only, by now, all the huge storms can do is finish destroying what little works of man remain standing. There's no one left alive to kill._

* * *

_While the Bay of Bengal region is shuddering under the first terrestrial onslaught of Comet Shiva, the next fragment strikes the Earth at 7:33 P.M. local time, just outside the Iranian city of Shiraz. This fragment, similar in size to the Bay of Bengal fragment, blows a crater in the Earth over nineteen kilometers across, creating a huge false sun that lasts almost five minutes. An enormous cloud of ejecta is blown high into the stratosphere, raining down hundreds of kilometers from the impact site itself. The 8.2 magnitude quake strikes Shiraz less than a minute after impact, followed by the blast wave traveling at near-supersonic speeds. What was left of Shiraz after the quake and blast wave leveled the city, was consumed by the thermal pulse from the impact, as a firestorm engulfs what is left of the ancient city._

_However, land strikes have always been less damaging that water strikes, so the destruction is much more regional. Still, tens of millions die in a matter of minutes following the Shiraz impact, and the region will remain scarred for many thousands of years by the enormous steaming crater left behind._

* * *

_The strikes march westward. Fragment number three, measuring roughly sixteen hundred meters across, impacts the Mediterranean Sea at 4:50 P.M. local time. This fragment, sixty percent larger than the first two that impacted the Earth earlier, hits the Mediterranean roughly halfway between the islands of Crete and Sicily. The effect of the resulting mega-tsunamis on the coastlines surrounding the Mediterranean basin can best be described as dropping a boulder into a bathtub. Every single country in the region is pummeled by massive tsunamis, as the waves literally slosh back and forth in the shallow sea for hours after the impact. The great ancient cities of the region - the place many scholars credit as the cradle of Western civilization - are utterly destroyed by the continual pounding of tsunamis. Tripoli, Damascus, Jerusalem, Alexandria - all wiped from the face of the Earth. Athens, Rome, Barcelona, Marseilles - in a matter of hours it was as if these cities never existed at all._

_But this impact did much more than generate a huge crater and massive tsunamis. The great volcanic peaks of the Mediterranean - Santorini, Etna, Stromboli, even Vesuvius on the West coast of Italy - all rumble to life, awakened by the massive tremor that raced through the sea floor when the fragment impacted. These volcanic eruptions add countless tons of toxic gas and ash to the atmosphere, and generate their own destructive tsunamis to the ones already devastating the region. The eruptions continue for days until the mountains finally fall silent once again._

_Finally, as in the Bay of Bengal, the superheated crater vaporizes billions of tons of sea water. Clouds condense, lightning flashes are virtually continual, and winds build until they reach speeds in excess of three hundred kilometers an hour. Hurricane after hurricane is spawned from this unblinking eye into hell that is the Mediterranean Impact Zone. Between the massive tsunamis, volcanic pyrocastic flows, and violent hurricanes, the coastal regions of the Mediterranean are wiped clean of life of all kinds for years to come. _

_In spite of all of the preparations taken by the various governments in the area, and all the evacuations conducted, uncounted millions still die. Some, lucky enough to survive the impact-spawned tsunamis, find themselves choking to death under blinding clouds of volcanic ash, while others die from landslides caused by the incessant rains caused by the hurricanes that follow the impact. _

_One impact has turned the Cradle of Western Civilization into its tomb._

* * *

_Two fragments impact France - one obliterates the city of Lyon, the other falls directly on Paris. These impacts occur virtually simultaneously, at just after 5 P.M. local time. A pair of smoking, steaming craters, both nearly twenty kilometer across and almost a kilometer deep are now where the cities of Lyon and Paris once stood. Twin false suns illuminate the late afternoon summer day for several minutes before fading. The thermal pulse from both impacts ignites structure fires in a radius of several hundred kilometers in all directions, and white-hot ejecta spews high into the atmosphere, only to fall as far as a thousand kilometers away from each impact site. Fire rains from the sky all over France, Spain, Great Britain, the Low Countries, Germany, Austria and Italy._

_Thousands of fires are started from this flaming debris. Emergency services all over Western Europe are quickly overwhelmed as individual fires quickly merge into firestorms that rage unchecked across regions, and later entire countries. These fires are driven in new, unpredictable directions when firestorms meet hurricanes spinning off the Mediterranean. In some places, the torrential rains serve to extinguish raging infernos, while in others the flames are fanned to incredible heights by the hurricane winds._

_In a matter of days, virtually nothing remains in Western and Central Europe but scorched, smoking earth. Nothing remains of The City of Light but a massive, raw wound that steams for weeks after impact._

* * *

_The North Atlantic is the target of the next two fragments. Both chunks of ice, rock, and metal, each at about a kilometer across, plummet into the chill waters at 3:18 P.M. local time. As was the case with the impacts in France, both North Atlantic strikes occur virtually simultaneously. Again, false suns rise from the ocean floor to illuminate the immediate areas around each impact. The wounds in the Atlantic gape open - raw glowing gates to Hell that will be visible for days, until the encroaching ocean cools them enough to allow the water to rush back in and fill the voids._

_The impacts are too far out to have any immediate effect on any of the land masses that share the Atlantic Ocean. The blast wave, ejecta blanket, and thermal pulse radiate outward from each crater but dissipate relatively harmlessly. The only immediate casualty is not even living. The disintegrating remains of the _R.M.S. Titanic_, resting on the floor of the North Atlantic under four thousand meters of water for the last one hundred fifty-six years, are completely obliterated by the combined shock waves traveling through the deep water at supersonic speed. In seconds, no trace of the wreck or of its debris field remain._

_The mega-tsunamis from the twin impacts collide in the open ocean, sending them in new, unpredictable directions. No Atlantic coastline is safe as one massive, debris filled wall of water after another slams into land. Ireland is completely covered by water, only a few of the higher points sticking out from the churning flood. The tsunamis have the effect of extinguishing fires along the coastlines of Western Europe and Great Britain that were caused by the Lyon and Paris impacts, replacing destruction by fire with destruction by water._

_The Madiera Islands, the Canaries, and the Azores literally disappear. The North Africa countries of Morocco, Western Sahara and Mauritania are drowned under hundreds of meters of water and debris. To the North, Greenland and Iceland gets hammered by wave after wave. _

_Within scant hours after impact, the North American Continent feels the first effects of Shiva as Newfoundland and Nova Scotia are inundated by mega-tsunamis. The waves continue southward, beating against the New England States, the Atlantic Seaboard, all the way down the coast to the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida. Florida virtually disappears under the onslaught of water and debris._

_The waves march ever southward, slamming into the Bahamas, the Turks and Caicos Islands, Cuba, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico. Island chain after island chain disappears, all the way down to the coast of South America._

_Even as the waves finally subside, the impact spawned hurricanes begin to spin to life. For weeks afterward, one giant storm after another finishes the work that the tsunamis started. Between the tsunamis and the hurricanes, the effect is remarkably similar no matter where on Earth you are. The land that remains looks more like the surface of the Moon than it does the Earth._

* * *

_While the twin North Atlantic strikes were doing their damage, another strike, this one in the Central Atlantic, dwarfs everything that has come before it. Mjolnir, the massive companion asteroid to Comet Shiva, strikes the Central Atlantic at 3:27 P.M. local time. This strike creates monster tsunamis that dwarf everything that has come before. The wall of water racing out from the fifty kilometer wide hole in the ocean is over one hundred meters in height. The monster waves generated by this impact crash into the Eastern South American coast, the Caribbean, and the West coast of Africa. As these waves approach the coast they build to seeming impossible heights, until they resemble moving mountains rather than walls of water. Some monster tsunamis exceed two thousand meters in height._

_Entire island chains disappear. Coastlines are forever changed. And untold billions die. The waves from Mjolnir merge with the Twin Atlantic Impact waves, creating rogues that bounce around the Atlantic for weeks afterwards. _

_The Atlantic Ocean, viewed from above in the days following the impacts, would appear to be covered with millions of tiny spots. Only on closer examination would those "spots" resolve into corpses - corpses of humans, dogs, cats, cattle and livestock of all descriptions, and wildlife of every shape and size._

_It will be years before the dead finally all disappear from the surface of the worlds oceans. The water has become the final resting place for over six billion humans._

* * *

_At 1:30 P.M. local time, the Gulf of Mexico receives a single strike. Once again, mega-tsunamis slam into the Gulf Coast states. Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas feel the wrath of Shiva. Mexico, from Matamoros to Cancun, is covered by wave after wave. Another smoking crater, more billions of tons of sea water evaporated, more hurricanes. The hurricanes grow with frightening speed. Watching an impact-spawned hurricane develop was like watching a normal hurricane form using time-lapse photography - only this was happening during normal time._

_At the same time, one fragment spins away from the main body, perhaps pushed on its new path by a collision with another fragment. This one careens northward and plummets down in a surprise trajectory straight into Lake Michigan. A series of giant, fresh water tsunamis destroy the cities of Chicago, Milwaukee and Green Bay. Hurricanes spawn directly over America's Heartland, wreaking havoc over the states of Wisconsin, Michigan, Minnesota, Iowa, Indiana and Ohio. The people in the Midwest are ill-equipped to deal with hurricanes. Many die and property damage is incalculable. _

_Shiva is not done with North America just yet. Four land strikes - in Southern Texas in the Rocky Mountains, one each in Southern New Mexico and Southern Arizona on the Colorado Plateau, and one in California's Mojave Desert - impact the Earth starting at 11:47 A.M. local time and ending with the Mojave impact thirty-nine minutes later, at 11:26 A.M. local time. As was the case with the strikes in France, devastation from the blast wave extended out for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. The thermal pulse and superheated ejecta rain fire all throughout the American Southwest and Northern Mexico from three to five hundred kilometers from each impact. The fires caused by these impacts rage for days in some places._

_The Gulf of California - also known as the Sea of Cortez - is the recipient of a single strike at 11:39 A.M. local time. The resulting tsunamis literally cut Baja California in two and flood the West Coast of Mexico as far South as Alcapulco. At the northern end of the Sea of Cortez, the mega-tsunami is compressed into a narrow channel and blasts northward, reaching as far inland as Yuma, Arizona, Calexico, California, and the Imperial Valley. Right on the heels of this impact come the inevitable impact hurricanes to complete the destruction._

* * *

_The final series of impacts begins right before Noon local time as the remaining six major fragments walk their way across the Pacific Ocean, beginning just off the coast of California, about a hundred kilometers West of San Diego, and ending in the North Pacific, roughly halfway between the Hawaiian Islands and the Aleutian Islands off Alaska. The final major impact occurs at 11:09 A.M. Central Pacific time. Slightly less than three hours have elapsed from the first impact to the last._

_Mega-tsunamis from this last series of impacts affects every country along the Pacific Rim. There is literally no land mass North of the Equator, and few South of the Equator, that are unaffected. Hours after the final impact the Hawaiian Islands are slammed by mountains of water. The West Coast of the United States, Western Canada, and Alaska are similarly affected, as is Mexico and the West Coast of South America._

_It takes hours, and sometimes days, for the waves to subside. There is not a single recognizable coastline left on the Earth. Impact firestorms rage, sometimes for weeks, across Western and Central Europe, and the American Southwest. Each water impact spawns a minimum of three massive hurricanes - for weeks following the impacts there is scarcely any place on Earth that is not pummeled by one or more of these monster storms._

_Entire geographical features are gone forever. The Bosporus, the Rock of Gibraltar, the Isthmus of Kra, the State of Florida, and the Isthmus of Panama are a few notable features that have disappeared entirely. Whole island chains or groups have also vanished. The British Isles and Ireland are broken up into no less than six distinctive islands._

_Even after the waves subside - once the last of the impact hurricanes loses its power - the rains continue. Incredible amounts of vaporized water condense and, where the hurricanes end, the rains begin. The entire Northern Hemisphere is covered by a never-ending blanket of cloud. The hard rains last for weeks, but even after the rains taper off, the drizzle continues for months afterward. It's a rare day, indeed, to be able to see the sun, even for a few hours._

_The torrential rains have another effect. Reservoirs fill to bursting, and dams across the world fail and collapse from the weight of the water behind them, further flooding the landscape. The incessant rains cause roads to wash out, bridges to fail and collapse, and strand millions in their own small communities. Villages, towns, and cities become their own small land-locked islands, unable to reach one another. However, in a strange twist, railroad tracks, rights-of-way, and railway bridges remain remarkably intact all over North America. In the months and years to come, these will serve as the only conduits for traffic of any kind to travel from one region to another._

_The cloud cover, along with tremendous amounts of dust, soot, and volcanic ash that was thrown into the atmosphere, has another effect - cooling the Earth. Over the weeks and months following the last impact, global temperatures fall several degrees. The torrential rains had destroyed crops world wide - now the falling temperatures will make it difficult, if not impossible in some places, to grow new crops. Winter sets in early in the year 2070. Places that normally don't see snow fall until late October or early November are now seeing snow in mid-September. Other places that rarely, if ever, see snowfall of any kind are getting snow starting in mid-October._

_The survivors would call this cooling and unseasonal snowfall the Forever Winter, or the Little Ice Age, even though the Forever Winter would last just over four years._

_The impacts had another, more sinister, man-made effect. Countries that, for years, had harbored animosity toward their neighbors, and in spite of repeated attempts at peace by the United Nations, decided that the impacts were the perfect time to settle old scores. The Bay of Bengal strike had just occurred when the first missile was launched. Man-made impacts soon added their devastation to Shiva/Mjolnir, as nuclear fire blossomed over Moscow and St. Petersburg. The Russians retaliated immediately, sending their own missiles to destroy Beijing, Shanghai and Hong Kong. Others quickly joined suit as Pyongyang launched their own attacks against Seoul, Tokyo, Fairbanks, and Honolulu. The U.S. response was immediate and devastating, and Pyongyang didn't have to wait for an impact-related calamity to strike as submarine launched missiles destroyed the North Korean capital. _

_This sad scenario was played out several times over in other parts of the world - Islamabad in Pakistan and New Delhi in India, as well as Tehran in Iran and Tel Aviv in Israel. A total of fourteen major world cities were destroyed by man before the comet even had a chance to finish its work._

* * *

_The survivors began to poke their heads out, tentatively, a few days after the final impact. Terrain features - the Himalayas in Asia, the Alps and Apennines in Europe, and the Appalachians, Rockies, Sierra Nevada, and Cascade Ranges in North America - all served as natural barriers against both mega-tsunamis and impact firestorms. For those that were left in the continental United States, it would become painfully obvious that their country was forever changed. The Pacific coast had been pushed inland over three hundred kilometers in places. Most of New England, the Atlantic Seaboard, Florida, and most of the Gulf Coast was either destroyed, under water, or uninhabitable._

_In orbit above the Earth, almost every communications, weather, and navigation satellite that had been operational on the Day of Impact had been destroyed or damaged so severely, as the orbit of the Earth passed directly through the cloud of smaller fragments that accompanied Comet Shiva, as to be useless. Communications was limited to wire, fiber optic, or line of sight radio. Relays would become a necessity until more wire, cable, and fiber optic systems could be installed. Weather forecasting would be limited to local or regional only, and navigation would have to be done the old fashioned way - with a map and a compass._

_Pockets of survivors were scattered all over the United States. Colorado Springs was the new (temporary) seat of government, but significant populations of survivors could be found all over the U.S. In places as diverse as Las Vegas, Nevada, Little Rock, Arkansas and Spokane, Washington - the organized groups of survivors began the grim task of trying to sort out what they had to work with in order to stay alive._

_Very few places escaped some sort of damage - Las Vegas and Albuquerque, New Mexico sustained ejecta damage, for example - but the locals in these areas quickly pulled together. Establishing and maintaining communications with Colorado Springs was a priority. Each local government knew that their best chance for survival would be cooperating fully with the seat of government in Colorado Springs._

_Still, the scattered groups of survivors knew that the road ahead would be difficult. Many irreplaceable caches of supplies had been destroyed, or were in places that were difficult, if not impossible, to get to. For now, all they could do was to take stock of what they had and protect what was theirs. Some wondered aloud if the truly lucky ones were the ones that had died, quickly, on July 4th._

_Many of those that survived the impact of Shiva and Mjolnir would not survive the first winter. Starvation, disease, and injuries would take their toll. Many of the very young and many of the very old would die quickly. Each group of survivors would be on its own for at least the foreseeable future. Rationing would become a way of life and the survivors would have to become tough and be willing to fight for and protect what was theirs._

_For now, survival was day to day. _

_Today, July 4th, 2070, was Götterdämmerung. Ragnarok. The Twilight of the Gods._

**A/N: Whew! Well, I hope I did the end of the world (as we know it) justice! I decided to do this entire chapter with no dialogue, just reporting the events as they happened. Next chapter, I promise, I will bring back characters, dialogue, and let everyone know what happens to certain key players in this drama on the day of Götterdämmerung - The Twilight of the Gods.**

**Thanks for reading and please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8 - GÖTTERDÄMMERUNG**

**CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN - JPL MONITORING FACILITY - 5:00 A.M., FRIDAY, JULY 4TH, 2070**

"Clarke, this is Cheyenne Mountain, how do you read? Over," Jack Hawthorne adjusts the wireless ear buds as he stares at the computer screen in front of him.

"Stand by, Cheyenne," a voice crackles over his ear buds as the display on the computer screen changes, displaying an enormously cluttered space where Jack could see people hurrying back and forth in the background.

"Roger," Jack says, drumming his fingers impatiently. He thinks back to the last conversation he had with Victoria just hours before. She had been stranded back East when the government had effectively shut down all but essential government and military transportation, and somehow had ended up in Bethel Park, Pennsylvania, along with their son, Vic. It was only through good fortune that she and Vic had ended up being taken in by Charlotte Everdeen, whose husband, Senator Michael Everdeen, called Bethel Park home. The conversation had been brief, strained, liberally peppered with "I love you's," and ended with the promise that they would all be reunited very soon.

Nonetheless, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see or speak to his wife and son again.

"Jack?" Marco Kimbrough's familiar voice cuts through Jack's dark thoughts. "Sorry for the delay - we've been just a wee bit busy up here."

"No problem, Marco," Jack replies, grinning at the face on his computer screen. The commander of the Clarke Orbital Station grins back.

"Jack, I think we're as ready as we'll ever be. We've been monitoring Shiva's debris field and estimate that we'll have to power down all non-essential systems and divert all available power to the force field in -" Marco glances down at his watch "- thirty-eight minutes."

"Copy that, Marco," Jack says. "Depending on how that debris field acts, we may or may not have some surviving satellites after this is all over. We're hoping that some, at least, make it through."

"Operation Blanket still a go?" Marco asks. Operation Blanket was a contingency plan to put as many Electronic Warfare hoverplanes aloft as possible, in an effort to maintain world-wide communications once the network of communications, navigation, and weathers satellites was lost due to the Shiva debris field. EW hoverplanes were very fuel efficient and could stay aloft for days at a time, and even though they were designed for electronic warfare, their sophisticated electronics could adapt to a straightforward communications role very easily.

"Roger that," Jack replies. "We're launching planes starting right about now. Unfortunately, we're gonna be blind in quite a few areas - North Korea, the border between Russia and China, and a lot of the Middle East - but we'll get as much coverage as we can. We're keeping the planes well away from projected impact sites and having them fly at a ceiling of between twenty-five and thirty kilometers." While talking, Jack sees Marco turn and speak to someone off-camera, then turn back.

"Copy, Jack. Listen, I've just been informed that we need to start shutting down our comm and get our antennas retracted. We'll give you a call when it's all over. Clarke out." The computer screen in front of Jack suddenly went dark, then changed to the comm stand-by mode.

Jack sighs and removes the ear buds, setting them carefully on the desk in front of him. He rubs his face with his hands, his forehead creased in worry. He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Melody Temple-Smith smiling down at him.

"She'll be okay, Jack," Melody says softly. "Charles did a little discreet checking of his own. Bethel Park is well away from the tsunami zone and is well organized. Plus, she could do worse than stay with a U.S. Senator."

"I know, Melody," Jack sighs, looks at his watch then stands up. "Are they still serving?"

"Yeah," Melody replies. "For another twenty minutes. They have country gravy this morning, so you better hurry."

"I will, Melody," Jack says. "And Melody? Thanks."

"Anytime, Jack," Melody says with a smile.

* * *

"Blanket One Four reports on station," the voice in Jack's ear buds reports. Jack glances up from his computer screen and glances around at the other work stations. Almost the entire astronomical division of the Brain Trust is assembled here - Jack, Dr. Henry Mitchell, Melody Temple-Smith and her husband, Lieutenant Commander Charles Smith of the U.S. Navy, Dr. Thomas Jackson, and Elise Orr. Only Elena Roshenko was absent, having returned home to Odessa in the Ukraine two weeks before.

Henry, the official JPL representative, was intently studying data on his computer screen. Presidential Science Advisor Tom Jackson was talking urgently in low tones into a telephone. The rest of the team was simply - waiting.

Elise Orr straightens up, taps on her keyboard for a few seconds, then looks over at Jack.

"We just lost comm with Tyson," she reports in a flat tone. The Tyson Orbital Observatory was the most advanced space telescope ever deployed. Losing contact with it meant one thing - it no longer existed, destroyed by a fragment of comet.

Elise, tasked with monitoring the condition of various orbital platforms, has already called out the loss of various communications, weather, and navigation satellites - but Tyson hit close to home. All of the assembled astronomers had used Tyson at one time or another during their careers.

"We're getting voice feed from Blanket One Four now," Melody Temple-Smith announces. She taps a command into her computer and a new voice emanates from the speakers by the main view screen.

"- really an amazing sight," a female voice says. "Thousands of shooting stars. It's like it's raining shooting stars here. Over."

"What's the local time for Blanket One Four?" Jack asks.

"9:14 P.M. local time," Henry says. "They're orbiting their station at thirty thousand meters."

"Copy that, One Four," Melody says. "This is Cheyenne Mountain. Are you transmitting visual? Over."

"Stand by, Cheyenne. Over," the female voice says. The image on the main view screen flickers, then comes to life. The astronomers in the room gasp at the sight. It was, indeed, raining shooting stars over the Bay of Bengal. As they watched, smaller, split screen images appeared until the main image was framed by four smaller images, two on each side of the screen.

"You should be getting visual now, Cheyenne. The big image is View Forward - that's what we see out of the cockpit windows. Top left is View Overhead, beneath that is View Aft, then on the right we have View Port and View Starboard. Over." The female voice, now identified as the hoverplane pilot, says.

"Looking good, One Four. Over." Melody says. She taps on her keyboard, sending a command to broadcast the images all throughout the Cheyenne Complex.

"Could they get hit by one of those things?" A new voice asks softly. Jack turns to see Rear Admiral Quentin Mason standing just behind him.

"Unlikely, Admiral. Most of what we are seeing here are pea-sized, at best. They put on a good show, but that's about - whoa! Now _that_ was a big one!" Jack exclaims as a bright fireball streaks across the view screen.

"That certainly wasn't pea-sized, Jack," Mason says wryly.

"They'll get bigger, Admiral," Jack says grimly.

"Cheyenne, One Four. Be advised long range radar's got a fix on the Big One. Coming in incredibly fast. We've slaved the cameras to the radar. Should have visual confirmation in a moment." The pilot's voice suddenly sounded much more tense than just two minutes before.

"Copy, One Four. Over." Melody glances up at Jack, eyes wide.

"Okay, folks. Show time." Jack says tersely.

"Visual." The pilot's voice reports. At the same time the split screens marked View Aft and View Port blaze to life as an immensely huge, incredibly bright fireball appears.

"Holy shit." Henry Mitchell mutters, eyes wide. There is a collective gasp from everyone else in the room.

"Fireball confirmed. Eight O'clock relative." The pilot's tense voice reports.

The fireball on the screens dims from painful, almost blinding brightness as the cameras compensate.

"Tracking," Jack's voice, cracking from tension, reports.

The fireball appears for a second or two on the View Forward, then seems to vanish. A second later, the images on View Port and View Forward are suddenly and completely overwhelmed by brilliance.

"Impact. Estimated sixteen degrees, twenty-eight minutes North Latitude, eighty-eight degrees, forty-five minutes East Longitude. How copy, over?" The pilot's voice, once again completely professional, reports.

"Copy impact, One Four," Melody says in a controlled voice. Jack glances over at her to see tears streaming down her face. Her husband steps in behind her and lays his hand on her shoulder, which she promptly grabs with her free hand. But her voice never wavers.

Jack turns his attention to the view screen, where an incredible false sun seems to be rising from the Bay of Bengal. As he watches, the view shifts from View Forward, to View Port, and finally to View Aft.

"Evasive," Rear Admiral Mason mutters. "Even at their distance and altitude, the shock wave is bound to be intense."

Jack examines the streams of data scrolling down his computer screen while stealing glimpses of the fading fireball on the view screen. His eyes widen slightly as one set of data streams past.

"Preliminary estimate of impact's explosive force is one million, six hundred thirty thousand megatons of TNT," Jack announces. In the background he can hear the pilot and crew of Blanket One Four transmitting voice data from the impact as well.

"When's the next impact?" Mason asks.

"Should be in the next fifteen to twenty minutes, somewhere in the Middle East. Blanket One Two is on station over the Persian Gulf but may or may not get a visual, depending on where the strike is." Jack replies. "Blankets Zero Eight and Zero Nine are over the Med and Western Europe. We should get both good visual and good data from there in about -" Jack glances at his watch "- thirty to forty minutes or so."

"Jack," Melody calls out. Jack turns around. "The fireball is fading. One Four is switching to IR."

The images on the view screen shift as the cameras switch from ambient light to infra-red. The fireball is an intense blob of white at the center, visibly shrinking now. As Jack watches, a ring seems to expand from the base of the fireball, slowly radiating outward. The ring is pinpointed by a red laser pointer.

"Impact tsunami," Tom Jackson says from his work station. He tracks the laser pointer over the ring. "It only looks slow because of the distance and altitude of One Four."

"Jack, look above the center of the fireball," Henry Mitchell says. Jack examines the area directly above the fireball, and sees a roiling mass begin to condense.

"Impact cyclone?" Jack asks. Henry nods and picks up the phone.

"I'm calling the Malarkeys. Hopefully the lines are still open to the NSSL." Henry announces. The Brain Trust meteorological team, David and Blair Malarkey, were positioned at the National Severe Storm Laboratory in Norman, Oklahoma. Henry quickly punches in the number, then announces, "On speaker."

A voice answers on the second ring. "Malarkey."

"Dave? Henry Mitchell here. Are you getting the feed from Blanket One Four?"

"Yeah. Absolutely phenomenal. Blair's trying to get a handle on wind speed based on cloud rotation, but it's difficult without a decent scale. Can One Four bounce radar off of those clouds?" In spite of the strain, Dave Malarkey's voice is brimming with excitement.

"Checking, Dave." Henry says, then glances over at Jack. "Can they do that?"

"Not sure. Those EW birds have a ton of different types of radar. Melody?" Jack says.

"On it." Melody says in a terse voice, relaying the request to One Four.

"We're working on it, Dave. What can you tell from visual?" Henry asks.

"Typical cyclonic rotation, although it's forming faster than anything I've ever seen before. Tremendous lightning activity too, and - what the hell?!" Malarkey exclaims as the pictures on the view screen suddenly shudder violently and tip crazily to one side, causing the growing storm to disappear completely.

"Shock wave," Quentin Mason announces calmly, as everyone watches the images on the view screen bounce crazily, then slowly stabilize. The image of the growing storm returns to View Aft, then slowly shifts to View Starboard and finally to View Forward.

"Sorry about that, Cheyenne. Got a pretty big kick from the shock wave. Some systems went down temporarily. Working to restore. You should be receiving radar data in a minute. Over." The pilot's calm voice cuts through the tension in the room.

"Roger. Data stream coming in. Over." Melody replies.

"Dave, are you getting the radar data?" Henry asks.

"Yeah. It's - holy shit. Preliminary wind speeds at the cloud tops in excess of six hundred forty kilometers per hour!" Malarkey says, awe in his voice.

"Over twice the wind speed of a typical Category Five hurricane," a new voice - female - announces.

"Blair?" Henry asks?

"Yes? Oh sorry, Henry. Yeah, this is Blair. Say, is that hoverplane equipped with Doppler? We need to get an idea of how fast this storm is tracking."

Henry glances up at Melody, who is speaking quickly into a microphone. She glances up and shakes her head.

"Negative on the Doppler, Blair." Henry says.

"Crap. Okay then. How long can that hoverplane stay in the area?" Blair asks.

"A day at least, Blair." Henry replies.

"Where was that hoverplane based?" Jack asks Mason.

"Diego Garcia," Mason replies grimly. "Several of the Operation Blanket hoverplanes launched from Diego Garcia. They won't be able to return there. Diego is only three meters above sea level. One Four will divert to Australia instead."

Jack nods grimly as Blair's voice comes over the speakers. "Can you please relay to the hoverplane to track that storm as close as they dare get to it? We need all the data we can get."

Melody quickly relays the request to One Four and gives Henry a thumbs up. "You got it, Blair." Henry says.

"Jack, Blanket One Two reports on station," Melody announces. "Do you want to switch over to them now?"

"Can we switch the feed from One Four directly to the NSSL?" Jack asks. After a moment, Melody nods.

"Dave? Blair? Jack Hawthorne here. Listen, we're switching the feed from One Four directly to you. One Two reports on station and we're gonna try for a visual from the Middle East strike."

"No problem, Jack," Dave replies. "Ready any time." Jack glances at Melody, who taps a few commands into her computer, then glances up and gives another thumbs up.

"One Four is all yours, Dave." Jack says. "Keep us posted on that cyclone. We'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you in a bit, Jack." Dave says as the connection is broken.

Jack glances up at the main view screen and sees the view waver, then shift to a new view. It was the same split screen format as before, only now the view showed both water - the Persian Gulf - as well as various land masses - Iran and Saudi Arabia being the two most prominent. It was sunset over the Persian Gulf, the rays of the setting sun glinting off the blue water.

The voice of the pilot of Blanket One Two - a male this time - crackles over the speakers in the room.

"Cheyenne, One Two. Radar lock on an inbound bogey, it's - friggin' thing is _huge, _visual momentarily, Over." The assembled astronomers wait, tense, staring at the screens until -

"There it is!" Tom Jackson shouts, as a second sun blazes to life in both the View Forward and View Port screens. It flashes across View Forward quickly and is picked up for an instant on View Overhead. The fireball itself is almost painful to look at, its trail a mixture of gray, black and brown slashed across the sky. The cameras, compensating for the brilliance of the fireball, track it all the way into -

"Impact. Inland Iran, City of Shiraz. Ground Zero is estimated at ten kilometers southwest of city center. Over." The pilots voice reports. The assembled group watches in horror as a second false sun rises up from the Iranian desert, and a massive mushroom cloud blooms over the impact fireball.

Tom Jackson taps at his computer keyboard. "The population of Shiraz is over three million," he announces in a soft voice.

"Was, you mean," Henry Mitchell replies, earning him a sharp look from Jackson.

"Alright, let's stay focused, people!" Jack barks. "We have a lot more of these to deal with today, and people will be looking to us for answers." Jack leans back in his chair, staring at the roiling fireball on the view screen, and wearily rubs his face with both hands.

_It's gonna be one hell of a long day,_ he says to himself.

**PRESIDENTIAL QUARTERS, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C. - 1:18 P.M., FRIDAY, JULY 4TH, 2070**

"Madam President?" The White House Chief Steward says, confused.

"One more time." Janice York says patiently. "Assemble the entire staff, get them on the South Lawn, and onto the Marine hoverplanes. Now." In the background, a television screen was showing the live feed from Blanket Zero Five as two fireballs slam into the North Atlantic about two hundred kilometers apart.

"Madam President, as Chief of your Security Detail, I really must insist that you accompany us to Andrews - now, ma'am." The Secret Service agent, a tall, middle aged man, his closely cropped hair graying at the temples, stood stubbornly.

"Gentlemen, I really must insist -" Ed York begins, but is stopped short by his wife holding up one well-manicured hand.

"Ed, please. Jason - Matt," Janice says, addressing the two men, "Listen. You need to evacuate the remainder of the staff. Colonel York and I are remaining here. It's where I belong. Please."

The Chief Steward and the Secret Service Agent glance at each other, confused by this turn of events. The Boss was effectively telling them to abandon her and the First Husband here, in the White House, with a mega-tsunami just hours away. This order went against every grain of their training.

Finally, the Secret Service Agent speaks. "Yes, Madam President," he says tightly. He turns to the Chief Steward. "I'll assemble the Security detail and military staff. You get domestic, clerical and communications. South Lawn. Fifteen minutes." The Chief Steward hesitates, turns to Janice, and says, "It's been an honor and privilege, Madam President." He clasps her hand tightly in both of his.

Janice York swallowed heavily and quickly blinked back tears. "Thank you, Jason. Now please make sure our people make it out of here!" Jason nods once, then turns and strides out of the quarters. He's already barking orders when he hits the hallway.

"Madam President, what the Chief said - goes double for me," The Security Chief says, taking her hands in his. Again Janice was almost overcome by emotion as she nods once and says, "Keep everyone safe, Matt!" He turns and leaves without another word.

Ed York wraps his wife in a close hug for a minute or two, then guides her over to the couch, where they sit and watch the feeds from Operation Blanket, ignoring the chaos erupting in the White House as the staff assembles to leave.

Gradually, the clamor dies away, the sound of slamming doors less frequent. Wordlessly, Ed gets up from the couch and turns the television off as the almost inaudible whine of the hoverplanes on the South Lawn reach their ears. Ed sits back on the couch and wraps his arms around his wife as the whine of the hoverplanes gets quieter until the sound fades away.

Janice and Ed York sit and listen to the sudden quiet. Even the usual noise from outside the White House is absent. The vast majority of residents had evacuated long ago. Ed steps to the French doors leading out onto the second floor balcony and opens them wide. Janice looks at him questioningly as he beckons to her to join him. Wordlessly she rises to her feet and walks over to her husband, and together they step out on to the balcony.

"What a beautiful day," Janice murmurs.

Ed glances up at the sky, seeing several dozen hoverplanes of various sizes flying overhead - all heading in the same general direction. Northwest - out of D.C. and away from the approaching mega-tsunami.

"Couldn't have asked for better weather," he agrees, slipping his arm around his wife's waist. Suddenly they both jump in surprise at the sound of gunshots pierces the unnatural quiet.

"They weren't close," Ed assures Janice. "Came from that general direction." Looking off in the direction that Ed was pointing, Janice could see smoke rising from at least a dozen different parts of the city.

"I guess not everyone evacuated," she says.

"Do you regret not going?" Ed asks softly.

Janice hesitates for a moment. "I regret a lot of things." she says finally. "I regret the things I was forced by circumstances to do. I regret having to order summary executions, and being forced to ignore the Constitution, but most of all I regret shipping our kids off to Quebec." Janice felt tears come again and this time she didn't try to fight them off.

Ed holds his wife closer to him. "I tried calling a while ago, but we'd already lost too many comm satellites. Even the White House Comm Room couldn't manage to punch a call through." Ed says.

"I know. So did I," Janice says. "I hope to God that the kids will be all right."

"They will be," Ed says confidently. "Your aunt and uncle adore them."

"I know. I just wish I could have - said goodbye." Janice says with a sob.

"I know," Ed says simply. They sit in silence for a few moments, then Ed stands up.

"Come on," he says, holding his hand out to his wife.

Janice stands up, confused. She takes his hand and says, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," is all Ed would say as he leads his wife out of the Quarters, down another corridor, and into a room.

"Ed, I don't get it. The Lincoln Bedroom?" Janice asks, looking at her husband in confusion.

Ed grins at his wife. "I've always wanted to make love to you in this room," he says, taking her into his arms. "Now's the time."

Janice smiles up at her husband. "I love you, Edward York," she whispers.

"And I love you - Madam President," he says before kissing her deeply.

* * *

Hours later, they are still laying in the tangled sheets, perspiration dotting their bare skin from their recent exertions. Outside, the skies have darkened as thick black clouds scudded across the summer sky. Ed and Janice can hear the peals of thunder getting closer as lightning flashes illuminate the gloom with increasing frequency.

Janice presses her naked body closer to her husband, feeling her heart pounding with rising fear as a new sound joined the claps of thunder and drenching rainfall - a low, ominous rumble, getting louder by the second.

Ed wraps his arms around his wife protectively, holding her trembling body as close to him as possible as the rumbling sound gets louder and louder.

"Ed -" Janice says in almost a whimper.

"Shhh, Jan. Close your eyes," her husband says, trying to control his own racing heart and choking down the sour bile rising in his throat. The rumble was a constant roar now.

"I love you, Ed," Janice whispers, closing her eyes and kissing her husband deeply.

"I love you, Jan," Ed replies, returning her kiss. They both stiffen momentarily as they feel the very foundation of the White House shudder violently as the roar from outside reaches deafening heights.

The wall of water, taller than the Washington Monument, slams into the White House at close to one hundred sixty kilometers an hour. Janice and Ed, arms and legs intertwined, feel a momentary numbing coldness a second before blackness descends on them both.

They don't feel any pain at all.

**PINE BLUFF, ARKANSAS - 3:00 P.M., FRIDAY, JULY 4TH, 2070**

Lucas O'Dair drives slowly through the nearly deserted Pine Bluff streets. Even though he was dressed in street clothes, he's in a marked Jefferson County Sheriff's Department car. Outside, rain was falling in sheets and lightning flashes were almost constant.

Lucas adjusted the boom mike, bringing it closer to his mouth, and keyed up the microphone once again.

"Attention. Curfew is in effect. Please remain in your homes. I repeat, curfew is in effect. Please remain in your homes." Lucas spoke into the boom mike, barely hearing his amplified words over the power of the storm outside.

_As if anyone's gonna be crazy enough to go outside in _this! Lucas says to himself. They got the news of the first comet strike a few hours ago. News reports have been spotty and inconsistent, due to the loss of communications satellites to cometary debris. Still, Lucas is painfully aware of one fact.

The shit has really hit the fan.

Ever since that day a couple of weeks before, when he and his boys had to fend off a pack of gang-bangers trying to rob them of _fish_, of all things, conditions had steadily worsened in Pine Bluff. The military had come in and, working with the Pine Bluff Police as well as the Jefferson County Sheriff, had confiscated what food remained on supermarket shelves and had imposed a strict rationing system. Now, with comet pieces falling all over the world, things were bound to get worse before they get any better.

Lucas shakes his head in disgust. First the rationing, then the transportation restrictions, and now this damn rain that blew in out of nowhere - _Well, not nowhere, _Lucas says to himself, _but from the Gulf of Mexico strike a couple of hours ago_ - and, in spite of all that, people were _still_ venturing out.

Lucas wanted nothing more than to be at home with his family right now. Holly was a good woman - strong and reliable, they had been married for twenty years - and his boys, Lucas Jr. and Sam, had shown themselves to be able to be capable as well - but dammit! It was his job to take care of his family! Screw the feds - his obligation to Holly, Lucas and Sam come first!

Sighing, he turned and headed to the West side of town, repeating his warning every couple of minutes. He had just finished cruising one neighborhood and was turning around when he heard it.

A low rumbling noise, rapidly approaching and getting louder. Automatically Lucas glanced up, searching the skies for any sign of funnel clouds or tornados, but saw only iron gray clouds and torrential rain. It was only when he glanced in the direction of the river that he saw it. And his brain still didn't immediately process what he was seeing.

A wall of water, over twenty five meters high, was rolling _up-river_, going at least fifty kilometers an hour. Lucas sat, transfixed, as the massive tidal bore surged ahead, carrying all manner of debris with it - trees, cars, even whole houses were caught in the churning gray water. Dimly, Lucas could hear the tornado siren start to wail and wondered what dumb-ass decided to trigger that. All Lucas could do was watch as the wall of water, easily spilling over the banks of the river, encroached on Pine Bluff for the better part of a kilometer on each side of the river.

The crackle of the radio spurred him to action, and, gunning his hydrogen powered engine, he sped down towards the river. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Lucas was forced to stop blocks away from the river and could only watch as the water literally scoured a good percentage of Pine Bluff clean, ripping houses from their foundations with ease. Stepping out of his car and mindless of the rain soaking him through instantly, Lucas imagined that he could hear the screams of people, trapped in their homes as they were ripped apart by the raging water. As he watched, the bore continued to surge into the rainy distance, finally disappearing from sight.

But the flood waters remained, boiling and roiling, a thick, gray churning mass that was still pulling debris into the river. As a new flash of lightning illuminated the nightmare scene before him, Lucas, finally free from the paralysis that gripped him, slid back into his car and grabbed the radio to attempt to report what he just saw.

Lucas had just finished making a somewhat disjointed, but surprisingly coherent, report to Central Dispatch when he heard the rumbling sound again. Not hesitating, he starts his car and slams it into reverse, backing up the street at high speed as a second, larger tidal bore surges up the river. This one wasn't nearly as choked with debris as the first. The first bore had done its job very well and had left little for the second to destroy.

Lucas has no way of knowing that these tidal bores were born from the Gulf of Mexico mega-tsunami. Surging up the Mississippi River and on to the Arkansas River, these massive tidal bores managed to circumvent hills and mountain ranges alike, surging up-river with tremendous speed and incredible force.

Numbly, Lucas drives the patrol car back to his home. He staggers into the house - now illuminated by lantern and candlelight, now that power had been lost, and shakily envelopes Holly in his arms.

Dripping wet, he holds his wife close for a moment, then pulls back and looks at her.

"I've seen hell," he says. "I've seen hell, and it's not fire. It's water."

**CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN SECURITY ZONE - BASE CAMP MURPHY, COMPANY B, 1ST BATTALION, 15TH INFANTRY REGIMENT, 3RD MECHANIZED INFANTRY DIVISION - 10:00 A.M., FRIDAY, JULY 4TH, 2070 **

Staff Sergeant Jamie Wise moves quickly from one bunker to the next, checking her troops for the fourth time in the last two hours. They had been ordered into their prepared positions on the perimeter hours before, and she knew they were getting antsy.

Keyed up by the possibility of - what? Attack by refugees? Meteors dropping from the sky? Aliens? - the squad, along with the rest of Bravo Company, had settled into their section of the perimeter, taut and alert. But, as the hours progressed with no activity and no movement to their front, the troops started getting bored. Lacking orders to the contrary, Jamie put her squad on fifty percent alert, allowing half the squad to nap, use the latrine, eat, or just generally relax while the other half remained vigilant.

Jamie's squad had the responsibility for four two-soldier bunkers as well as the hull-down position for the Stryker. All in all, her chunk of the perimeter was a rough line about fifty meters in length, tied in with similar squads to her left and right. As Jamie walked the line, she glanced into one bunker and saw Private Richard Snow, peering out at the free-fire zone to his front, his hands clutching his rifle. Sensing her presence, he glanced behind him once. Jamie nodded at him quickly, once. He returns her nod with one of his own, then resumes his vigilance.

_Maybe Snowflake's gonna turn out okay after all_, Jamie says to herself. She resumes her walk, speaking briefly with members of her squad, everyone universally bemoaning the "dumb ass chickenshit" that put them in their fighting positions to begin with. Jamie lets them vent. She knew from experience that soldiers were rarely happy unless they had something to bitch about.

At the far end of her walk, she runs into her Platoon Leader and Platoon Sergeant. She quickly briefs them on what's been happening in her sector (nothing), and lets them know that she put her squad on fifty percent alert. The Platoon Sergeant laughs and tells her that they were coming over to tell her to do that very thing.

_Why bother walking over? Why not just call on the landline instead? _Jamie wonders, even as she asks for any new word on the status of the comet strikes. The Platoon Leader, a young Lieutenant a year out of the Military Academy, admits that the "word" has been spotty, even though the literal nerve center of the entire country sits in the very mountain that they were guarding.

The Lieutenant promises to pass along any information that he may get promptly, as he and the Platoon Sergeant continue their rounds. Shaking her head, Jamie returns to the Stryker and raps on the ramp door with the butt of her rifle. A second later, she hears two sharp beeps from the vehicle horn and immediately steps aside as the ramp is lowered.

Sergeant Zack Clark, her assistant, greets her with a steaming cup of coffee. Jamie takes it gratefully and removes her helmet, scratching vigorously at the tightly packed curls on her head.

Zack steps out of the Stryker, holding his own cup of coffee and carrying his helmet carelessly by the chin strap. Jamie examined her friend closely. His head still had a bandage on it, courtesy of being sucker punched by a refugee with an ax handle, and his face and neck still showed bruising, but otherwise he seemed in good spirits.

Setting his helmet down, Zack scratched absently at his bandage. "Any new word?" he asks.

"Nada." Jamie answers, taking a sip from her coffee.

"Fuck," Zack says in disgust. "You'd think with all the info pouring into that friggin' mountain there -" he jerks his thumb at the mass of Cheyenne Mountain "- we'd be swimming in intel. But noooo, friggin' brass treatin' us like mushrooms again - feedin' us bullshit and keepin' us in the friggin' dark!"

Jamie laughs at her friend's frustrated outburst. "Hey, the LT said that he'd get us the word ASAP."

"Okay, whatever, Jamie," Zack says, taking a noisy sip from his cup. "Personally, I don't think there is any comet strike! This whole exercise is just to fuck with us! Ya know what I -" Zack stops in mid-sentence at a sudden bright flash of light. Instinctively, they both glance up - and gasp.

An intensely bright pinpoint of light, as bright as the sun, is tearing across the mid-morning sky, roughly Southeast to Northwest, due North of where Zack and Jamie stand, transfixed, trailing a dirty, brownish gray-black trail behind it. Even as they watch the mini-sun streak away, there is an intensely loud thunderclap as the sonic boom rolls over their camp.

"HIT IT! EVERYONE DOWN!" Jamie shouts and dives to the ground, not waiting to see if her order was followed or not. She covers her head with her arms, her helmet spinning on the ground beside her, useless. A second later, Jamie can see an intensely bright flash, brighter even than the light in the sky, suddenly light up their perimeter, like the flash of a giant flashbulb.

As the light fades, Jamie staggers to her feet, blinking her eyes rapidly, trying to clear away the spots that were dancing in front of her face. She sees Zack pushing himself up awkwardly and reaches out a hand to steady him, then pulls him to his feet.

Jamie glances around and sees other members of her squad dazedly standing up, brushing themselves off, confusion written all over their faces.

"You okay?" Jamie asks Zack, who nods, the dazed look still on his face. "Everyone okay?" Jamie shouts. "Count off, people!" She hears each member of her squad count off until everyone is accounted for, then turns back to Zack, grinning.

"You can thank me for doing your job later," she says, then realizes that Zack isn't even listening - instead, he's staring off in the distance. As Jamie turns to see what he's looking at, she hears him mutter, "Holy fuck."

Jamie finally sees what her assistant had been staring at, and says quietly, "My sentiments exactly."

Due North from where they stood, a mushroom cloud was slowly rising into the morning air. One member of her squad told her that he happened to be looking in that direction when he saw the explosion. It was intensely bright, he said, but he hadn't been looking directly at it. He said it seemed to explode in mid-air.

"A nuke?" Zack asks quietly?

Jamie snorts. "Did you see how _fast_ that friggin' thing was goin'? That was no nuke!"

"Then what the hell was it? I didn't think there was supposed to be any strikes around here!" Zack says.

"Better sue the comet, Zack." Jamie says sarcastically. As soon as she says it a rolling roar envelopes them, followed by a strong gust of wind lasting ten seconds or so.

"Blast and shock wave," Jamie mutters, then, "Anyone get flash to bang time? Anyone?"

"I did," a voice from one of the bunkers says. Private Richard Snow emerges, looking at Jamie. "Three hundred seconds, give or take - I was startled. But that's pretty close."

"Good work, Snow." Jamie says as she ducks inside the Stryker and re-emerges with her map case. "Zack - shoot me an azimuth to the cloud base!" she shouts as she fumbles with her maps.

Zack squints down at his compass, and calls out, "I've got three hundred fifty degrees."

Muttering to herself, Jamie carefully lays her protractor on the map, with the center of the protractor on their camp, and makes a small pencil mark at the three hundred fifty degree mark, then carefully draws a line from their base camp through the pencil mark.

"Three hundred seconds," she mutters to herself, "And the speed of sound is -" she quickly converts the time it took for the sound of the blast and shock wave to arrive to distance, then compares it to the map. Cursing to herself, she double checks her figures, then straightens up.

Grabbing the field phone, she pumps the ringer several times and puts the phone to her ear.

"LT? Sergeant Wise. That air burst? Anyone else report on it? No? I've got ground zero. Okay, I'll stand by." Jamie looks at Zack and cups her hand over the mouthpiece.

"LT's connecting me with the Command Post." she says, then, "Yeah? Captain? Sergeant Wise here. I've got ground zero for that air-burster, sir. It's Denver. Damn thing exploded right over Denver. Roger that, sir. Thanks." Jamie hangs up the phone and looks at Zack.

"You were saying something about that there was no comet strike, Zack? Tell that to the folks in Denver, Aurora, and Littleton - if you can find any alive, that is." Jamie says wearily, then, "Alright people, show's over. Back to your positions and stay alert!"

**Thanks again to everyone still sticking with this story! I'll try to pick up the pace a little now that the world has come to an end! Please review and tell me what you think!**


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9 - AFTERMATH**

**NATIONAL COMMAND CENTER, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, COLORADO - FRIDAY, JULY 4TH, 2070 - NOON**

"Mr. Vice President?" Dan Crane says softly, standing to the right and slightly to the rear of Alexander Cray. At that particular moment, the Vice President had been listening to radio traffic between Clarke Station, in orbit over four hundred twenty kilometers above the Earth, and the JPL Monitoring Center.

The traffic was spotty and full of static - with almost all of the Earth-bound tracking stations destroyed or at least silenced by the impacts (likewise with almost all of the orbiting comm satellites), voice communications was limited to a brief few minutes every couple of hours. It was gratifying to know, however, that the force field that had been placed around the orbiting station had worked perfectly.

Right now Cray was listening to the voice of one of the station technicians - not the commander, Kimbrough - speaking with Henry Mitchell and Jack Hawthorne about something called a "data dump." In truth, Cray felt somewhat useless, and had been listening in more to keep himself busy than anything else - waiting for the inevitable - which seemed to be now.

"Dan," Vice President Cray says with a smile as he swivels his chair around to face the White House Chief of Staff. "Word from the boss, I hope?" Although Cray was a career politician and had been a very capable legislator, he had never been entirely comfortable with assuming the mantle of command. And even though he was aware that President Janice York intended to stay in Washington, he still harbored hope that she would ultimately change her mind.

"No, sir - I'm afraid not. Sir, I - there's something the President needs you to view," Dan says haltingly. He extends his hand to Cray. In his hand was a PADD and a sealed envelope. "The President instructed me to deliver these to you personally, once the impacts were confirmed." Dan turns to a stenographer, sitting quietly to one side. "Please record the date and time that I delivered the PADD and envelope to Vice President Cray."

The stenographer sits bolt upright and taps the PADD in front of her as she quickly notes the date and time. With a trembling hand, Alexander Cray takes the PADD and envelope from Dan Crane. He sees Dan glance to one side and notices Amanda Dalton, The White House Deputy Chief of Staff, standing to one side. Dan shoots her a questioning glance and Amanda responds with, "I just checked. Comm is still up with the White House."

Dan nods. "Thank you, Amanda." He turns back to Cray. "Mr. Vice President, please note that the envelope was sealed at the White House by President York." Cray turns the envelope over, notes the seal across the back, and says, "Yes. The envelope is sealed."

"Sir, the envelope contains the pass phrase for accessing the information on the PADD. You may want to use an office in order to view the contents of the PADD." Dan steps back and indicates a nearby office. Cray stands up and, carrying the PADD and envelope, steps into the vacant office and shuts the door.

Dan and Amanda wait quietly outside for a few minutes. There's no sound from the office. Finally Amanda says, "I'll call comm and get a line check with the White House."

"Okay," says Dan. Amanda steps to the stenographers desk and, with a smile, asks her if she could borrow her phone for a moment, then punches in a number from memory.

"Dan." Dan turns to see Alexander Cray, looking ashen-faced, stepping thought the door to the office and back into the Main Command Center.

"Sir?" Dan replies.

"Please locate the Chief Justice and have him report here ASAP. And tell him to bring - to bring a Bible. Jesus Christ, it's real." Cray makes his way to the chair he had been sitting in earlier and sits down heavily.

"Right away, Mr. Vice President," Dan says. He steps to the stenographers desk and waits for Amanda to finish with the phone. At that moment Amanda hangs up the phone and straightens up, her eyes suddenly moist with tears.

"Comm," she begins, her voice cracking. She stops and clears her throat, blinking rapidly. "Comm reports all communications between here and the White House are - severed as of two minutes ago. Fiber optic, microwave, wire, standard radio - all carriers suddenly - disappeared, virtually simultaneously."

"Any word from Air Force One?" Cray asks.

"Air Force Tail Number B1957B is en route, sir." Dan replies, using the official Air Force designation for the Presidential Hoverplane, when the President was not on board. "The White House Chief Steward and the Chief of the Secret Service Security Detail are the two senior staffers on board."

"Change ASAP to 'immediately,' Dan, for the Chief Justice," Cray says, rubbing his hand over his face. "And - and my wife, also. She should be here."

"Right away, Mr. President," Dan says, picking up the phone and punching in a number from memory.

"Oh, fuck," President Alexander Cray says quietly.

* * *

"I, Alexander Cray, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God."

With these words, Alexander Cray became the President of the United States. With his right hand raised, palm outward, and his left hand resting on a Bible, Cray parroted the words recited by the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court. It was only when the Chief Justice offered his hand in congratulation did it truly sink in.

_I'm the President of the United States of America! Or, rather, what's _left_ of the United States or America, anyway._

Cray accepted congratulations and handshakes from the small group assembled in the Command Center Conference Room - but after a few minutes it was painfully apparent that it was back to business.

"Folks," Cray says loudly, cutting through the buzz of conversation in the conference room, "Let's take our seats. I understand that some matters need my attention." The assembled Cabinet members and Joint Chiefs of Staff quickly find chairs. Once everyone was seated, Cray glanced down at a pad of paper in front of him, then glanced up.

"Item one. Leigh? You have the floor, Madam Secretary." Cray announces.

"Thank you, Mr. President," Secretary of Defense Leigh Paylor stands up. "We've received confirmation from Clarke during their last orbital pass that Pyongyang did launch several nuclear devices at Seoul, Tokyo, Fairbanks, and Honolulu." There was a collective gasp from the assembled cabinet members that died just as quickly. "It's been confirmed that these devices did strike their intended targets with low yield nuclear weapons. The EW birds flying Operation Blanket are all armed with a pair of intermediate yield cruise missiles. Blanket One Seven is in position to respond, sir."

Cray leaned back in his chair. _My first act as President is to do something only one other President - Harry S Truman - has done, and order a nuclear strike on another power._ He glances up at Leigh Paylor before answering.

"I - I'll need the Football," he said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"Here, Mr. President." A young woman steps forward, a small briefcase handcuffed to her wrist. The Football - the briefcase that contained the nuclear launch codes - was never more than a couple of steps away from the President. Cray opened the briefcase with surprisingly steady hands and removed the launch codes and transmitter. Quickly entering the code, he punched "Confirm" when prompted. Cray then motioned Leigh Paylor over to him.

"Madam Secretary, please confirm the order to launch two intermediate-yield weapons, target: Pyongyang, People's Democratic Republic of North Korea." Cray says, handing the transmitter to her.

Paylor takes the transmitter, and, her hand shaking only slightly, quickly confirms the order

Once he was finished, he replaced the transmitter back into the briefcase and re-locked it. Only then did he notice that the room was dead silent.

"Blanket One Seven acknowledges receipt of the launch order, Mr. President," Paylor says. Only then does Cray notice the ear buds that she is wearing in both ears. As he watches, Leigh Paylor tilts her head to the side and presses one hand to her ear.

"Birds away," she announces.

"What's the flight time?" someone asks.

"From the last reported position of Blanket One Seven, about five minutes, Mr. President" a deep voice answers. Cray glances up and nods thanks to the Air Force Chief of Staff.

"Blanket One Seven reports birds are nominal, Mr. President," Paylor reports. The minutes tick by slowly, until finally -

"Blanket One Seven reports twin flashes and mushroom clouds over Pyongyang, Mr. President." Leigh Paylor announces in a voice that trembles only slightly.

_I've been President for, let's see - about twenty minutes, and I'm already responsible for the death of millions._ President Alexander Cray surveys the assembled Cabinet and allows himself to sigh once, deeply.

"Alright," he says briskly. "Good job, Leigh. Let's see - item number two -"

**MONT-LAURIER, QUEBEC - LIEGE RESIDENCE - ONE WEEK AFTER COMET FALL - SOMETIME IN THE MORNING**

Veronica York sat at the front room window, staring morosely out into the morning gloom. Today was like every other day for the past two weeks - wet and rainy. The rain had started just hours after the comet fragments had struck the Earth and hadn't stopped in over two weeks. Sometimes it slowed from its usual hard, incessant pounding - but it never stopped.

Veronica sighed deeply and let her gaze drop to the telephone sitting on the end table. She had last talked to Mom and Dad on that very same phone the day before...all this happened. The instrument had remained silent ever since. Great Uncle Henri had mentioned something about the local phone company working to restore local service, but they would be lucky to get even that.

_They're all right,_ Veronica says to herself. _I know they are, because - they just _HAVE_ to be._ News from anywhere outside Mont-Laurier was spotty at best. A few local radio operators managed to contact people that said they had seen the destruction caused by the mega-tsunamis. They described "a mountain of water" choked with every form of debris imaginable completely destroying everything in its path, leaving nothing standing when it receded. Halifax, Yarmouth, Bangor, Augusta, Boston, New York City, Philadelphia, Norfolk, Savannah - and Washington, D.C. - all gone.

But now, even the radios were silent. Power was spotty at best and more often than not homes were lit at night by candles or lanterns. People weren't used to using Nineteenth Century lighting in Twenty-First Century homes, and there had already been numerous fire outbreaks that were thankfully almost always confined to the home or building where the fire started - one positive effect of the rain. And a good thing, too - the local Fire Department was pretty much impotent when it came to fighting any size fire. Without reliable water pressure, the fire hydrants were all pretty much useless.

Veronica stares down the street at the still smoldering remains of one such home. It had gone up in flames two nights ago, with the occupants - a family of five - trapped inside. Even though she had remained inside Uncle Henri's house, she could hear - or thought she could hear - the screams of the people trapped inside as they burned to death.

Veronica had nightmares every night since the comet fell. At first, her screams brought members of her Secret Service detail bursting into her room, guns drawn - only to find the thirteen year old girl still asleep, alone, eyes tightly clenched shut, her bedding in a tangle around her. Now, one member of the detail will just crack the door to look in on her - but they no longer enter, instead, they simply shut the door quietly.

"Veronica?" The girl jumped slightly at the sound of her name and spun around, embarrassed at being so easily startled. Great Aunt Clotilde stood there with a steaming cup in each hand.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," Clotilde says. "I made some mint tea and thought you might like a cup."

"It's okay, Aunt Clotilde," Veronica says with a small smile. "Yes, I would love some tea, thank you." Veronica takes the cup gratefully as Clotilde sits near her, also by the window. Veronica inhales the mint aroma rising from the cup and tries to ignore her own stomach rumbling. Food had been rationed almost as soon as the first comet strike was reported, and both Veronica and her twin brother Edward were always hungry.

"It's not rationed," Clotilde says suddenly. "The mint. I grow it myself. They haven't started raiding back yard vegetable gardens - yet."

"It's really good," Veronica says, after taking a cautious sip.

Clotilde smiled sadly at the girl. "I'm so sorry you and Ed are hungry," she says. "Hopefully, things will get back to normal soon, and then -"

Clotilde suddenly falls silent as a sudden movement outside, followed by the high pitched whine of several large hydrogen engines, brings her attention back to the window.

Both Clotilde and Veronica stared in amazement at the unexpected sight of a military convoy rolling slowly down the street. As they watched, they saw the lead vehicle pull off to the side of the street and stop, the other vehicles in the convoy following suit. As soon as the vehicles stopped Veronica and Clotilde saw armed soldiers quickly dismount and begin to form a perimeter around the convoy.

"What the hell?" A male voice from behind them causes Clotilde and Veronica to turn around. Gregory Coin, the head of the Secret Service Protection Detail for Veronica and Edward York, Jr., was standing in the living room, staring out the window.

"Mr. Coin? What's going on?" Veronica asks. Coin shakes his head slowly and shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm not sure, Veronica," he finally replies. "But those are U.S. Military uniforms out there." Coin turns and barks out the names of two Secret Service agents, and walks briskly to the door, where he's met by the other two agents. Coin speaks quickly and quietly into the commicuff on his right wrist. Pulling on rain slickers, the three agents pause at the door as Coin turns back toward the living room.

"You two please stay in here," he says, then opens the front door and he and the two agents step out into the rain storm to greet the soldiers - and to get some answers.

* * *

Major Nate Holmes, United States Marine Corps, stands hunched in the pouring rain, muttering profanities to himself as he studies the plastic covered map spread out over the hood of his command vehicle.

"Where the fuck did you say we were, Captain?" Holmes asks, never looking up from the map.

"Mont-Laurier, Quebec, sir," the officer standing to his right replies immediately.

"Mont-Laurier," Holmes mutters, tracing one finger over the wet plastic. "And that bridge on Highway 117 is definitely out?"

"Yes, sir," the Captain replies.

"Shit," Holmes says in disgust. "Captain, see if you can dig up some locals that may know of another way across that damn river!"

"Aye aye, sir," the Captain says, turning away, then stopping suddenly.

"Major Holmes," the Captain says, tapping Holmes on the shoulder. Holmes straightens up and turns around.

Holmes sees three men approaching - and something tells him that they aren't Canadians.

The three men stop a few steps from the command vehicle, and the man in front puts his hand up slowly.

"I'm going to reach inside my jacket to get my identification," the man says. Holmes nods curtly.

The man slowly reaches his right hand into the open front of his rain slicker and withdraws an ID wallet. Extending his hand, he hands the wallet to Holmes. Holmes takes the wallet and turns away, opening the door of the command vehicle and leaning in out of the rain to examine the identification.

Straightening up, Holmes closes the door to the command vehicle and turns back to the three men. He hands the ID wallet back to the first man.

"You're Agent Coin, I presume?" Holmes asks.

"Gregory Coin, Special Agent in Charge, U.S. Secret Service Presidential Protection Detail." Gregory Coin replies, extending his hand.

Holmes grips Coin's hand firmly. "Major Nathaniel Holmes, United States Marine Corps. Commander, One Hundred Third Special Transportation Company, United States Naval Base, New London, Connecticut."

"Long way from Groton, Major," Coin says.

"Agent Coin, I might say the same about you," Holmes replies. "And I'm reasonably sure that the President isn't here."

"Not President York," Coin says softly. "My assignment is to protect her children."

Holmes raises his eyebrows in surprise at this revelation. "Her kids are here? Why here?"

"Long story, Major," Coin replies dryly. "So this is a transportation unit? What is the Marine Corps transporting and why in Canada?"

"The cargo is...classified, Agent Coin," Holmes replies carefully. "As for us being in Canada, well, circumstances forced us to take some alternative routes." Inwardly, Holmes shudders, thinking how close they came to being hit by one of the monster tsunamis that had battered the Atlantic Seaboard for hours after the comet and asteroid strikes. Coin nods thoughtfully - no other explanation is necessary right now.

"Do you happen to know another way across the river?" Holmes asks Coin. "The Highway 117 bridge is out."

"Yeah, we know. And no, I don't know of any other way across the river. The 117 bridge was the largest bridge in this area. If it's gone then I'm sure the smaller ones are also."

"Fuck." Holmes says quietly. "Is there an RCMP detachment here? Maybe the Mounties know of an alternate route."

"They're in town. I can take you there, but I wouldn't get my hopes up." Coin replies.

"Can you give my Captain directions to their headquarters?" Holmes asks.

"Sure," Coin replies. "It's easy enough to find."

"One moment, Agent Coin." Holmes turns to the Captain. "Captain, I need you to touch base with the Mounties on a couple of subjects - one, where we can put the company up for the night, and, two, if they know of any other way across that damn river. Got it?"

"Aye aye, sir," the Captain replies. Coin quickly gives him directions while Holmes issues orders to his other officers. The two men then watch the command vehicle start up and move slowly down the street.

"I'm staying over here, Major," Coin says, indicating the Liege home. "I'd like to get some word about what's been happening in the rest of the world. We haven't got much news up here. Come on with me - give you a chance to get dry for a few minutes."

"Don't mind if I do," Holmes says, as the two men walk back to the Liege home, trailed by the other two Secret Service agents.

"So you have President York's kids here with you?" Holmes asks as they walk.

"Yeah. The President didn't feel that Cheyenne Mountain was a good place for them. The folks we're staying with - Henri and Clotilde Liege - are the President's Uncle and Aunt." Coin replies.

"Were," Holmes says quietly. Coin glances at Holmes, eyebrows arched.

"Were?" Coin asks.

"I assume you didn't hear," Holmes says, and takes a deep breath. "Alexander Cray was sworn in as President a week ago...the day the comet fell."

Coin glances sharply at Holmes. "Then that means -" Coin begins.

"Yeah." Holmes says. "The President didn't make it out of D.C."

"Shit." Coin says softly. "Please don't say anything to the kids. I want to talk to Henri and Clotilde first. Let them break the news. And my wife also - Lynnette is Secret Service as well. I'll want her there when the kids find out."

"Sure, no problem." Holmes says. He hesitates for a moment before continuing. "Agent Coin - about our cargo -"

"Yes? What about it? You said it's classified." Coin replies.

Holmes stops suddenly. Coin turns to him questioningly. Holmes takes Coin by the arm and leads him a few steps away from the other two agents. The two men start to follow but stop as soon as Coin puts his hand up.

"Agent Coin, you're the closest thing to being a U.S. Government representative here, so I'm gonna disclose our cargo. But it goes no further than us two. Not even your wife. Got it?" Holmes says urgently.

"Got it, Major." Coin says.

Holmes takes a deep breath. "It's nukes."

Coin looks sharply at Holmes. "Nukes?"

"Yes," Holmes says. "Sub launched ballistic and cruise missiles. The Groton/New London complex was smack in the heart of the tsunami zone. These weapons were earmarked for the ballistic missile sub _Savannah_, but she didn't port in time - had some problems out at sea. So I got tasked to move them to safety, only everything was done at the last minute. I don't even know if my family made it out safely."

"I'm sorry - about your family." Coin says. "As far as the nukes go - we'll have to find someplace to store them temporarily if we can't find a way for you to get across the river."

"Thanks, Agent Coin," Holmes says gratefully, then, "Good thing everything's hydrogen powered now. We have our own cracking generator - we can turn water into hydrogen and oxygen. All we need is water and we have plenty of that! Any other fuel and we would've been stranded days ago."

"That may be useful," Coin says, as the two men turn and continue to walk back to the Liege home. "I'm not sure if there's any reliable source of hydrogen around here. You can manufacture hydrogen for us until we can figure out how to get you across the river. But for now, I have something else to take care of."

"I understand," Holmes says quietly.

"Thanks," Coin says, as they reach the front door, and are immediately met by Henri and Clotilde Liege as well as the York children.

_Now all I gotta do is figure out the best way to let the kids know that they're orphans,_ Coin says to himself bitterly.

**BETHEL PARK, PENNSYLVANIA - THE EVERDEEN RESIDENCE - TWO WEEKS AFTER COMET FALL - EARLY EVENING**

Vic Hawthorne carefully places the splitting maul against the end of the upright log, then takes a firm grip on the handle and nods at Michael Everdeen. Everdeen swings a sledge hammer up and over his head, bringing it down on the maul with a clang. Vic can feel the vibration of the impact through the handle of the maul as the splitting wedge is driven halfway through the log. Taking a better grip on the maul handle, Vic picks up the maul and the log and slams both down - once, twice, three times - each blow driving the splitting wedge deeper into the log until it finally splits in two.

Ignoring the pain from the blisters on his hands, Vic picks up one of the halves and repeats the process, then does the same with the other half.

As the quarters fall away, they are quickly scooped up by Michael Everdeen's two sons, Mike Jr., age twelve, and Will, age ten, who stack them neatly in a growing pile, then grab another log to split from another, smaller pile.

They had been at this pretty much all day. A power splitter sits off to one side, useless for lack of fuel. Both Vic and Michael had been wearing gloves earlier, but the incessant rain had soaked the gloves thoroughly, causing both Vic and Michael to abandon them before noon. Now both had hands that were masses of bleeding blisters.

They repeat the process with this log, and the next, and the next after that, until Michael calls it quits. It's getting too dark to see.

"Come on, you three - let's get inside and get cleaned up." Michael says, carefully replacing the sledge hammer and splitting maul back in the tool shed.

Vic gratefully follows Michael back into the house and into the kitchen. There, they both carefully wash their hands in the sink, wincing as the warm water and soap penetrates their open blisters. As they dry their hands, Mike Jr. and Will wash up.

_What I wouldn't give for a _real_ shower! _Vic says to himself, lighting his way with a small candle as he wearily climbs the stairs to the attic loft that he was using for a bedroom. He quickly stripped off his soaking wet clothes, hanging them carefully to dry, and pulled dry clothes out of his suitcase.

Dressing quickly in a t-shirt and jeans, he takes the small candle and carefully descends the stairs to the first floor, and into the kitchen. He sees his mother carefully carrying a steaming pot from the living room fireplace into the kitchen and catches a whiff of something that makes his mouth water.

"Chili?" He asks hopefully.

"Close," his mother answers with a smile. "Charlotte had some beans soaking since this morning, and Nicole made a sauce from her tomatoes. The meat is from last night - I cut it up really small and browned it in a little oil before adding it to the soup."

Vic feels his stomach rumble in anticipation as he watches his mother carefully stir the contents of the big pot. _There may even be enough for seconds tonight!_ He says to himself.

"Vic, would you take the water and glasses to the dining table, please?" his mother asks.

"Sure, Mom." Vic takes seven glasses from the cupboard and fills them all from a water pitcher standing on the counter, then takes the full glasses and the pitcher to the dining table. On the way he encounters Nicole, the Everdeens shy, dark haired, pretty fifteen year old daughter, as she busies herself setting the table, and finds himself blushing as they brush past each other.

"Excuse me," Vic mutters, embarrassed.

"Sorry, Vic," Nicole says quietly, quickly looking down.

Quickly the table is set and Charlotte Everdeen places three candles in their holders on the table and lights them from the taper from the kitchen. The kids and Michael Everdeen sit at the table as Victoria Hawthorne and Charlotte Everdeen bring out filled bowls, setting a steaming bowl in front of each person at the table, before sitting down.

Dinner was a quiet affair, the only sounds made were those of spoons against bowls as the five Everdeens and two Hawthornes hungrily ate their soup. The only conversation was when Victoria asked if anyone would like a second bowl - which everyone did. This time, she brings the pot to the table and carefully ladles out the remains of the soup for everyone.

"That's it, I'm afraid," Victoria says apologetically as the last ladle-full goes into Wills bowl.

The rest of dinner was eaten in silence, and afterwards, everyone sat quietly for a moment, hunger pangs temporarily sated - but everyone wishing there was more.

"I spoke to Paul Undersee today," Michael says.

"Oh?" Charlotte says. "Any word on food shipments?"

"No," her husband says wearily. "Apparently our esteemed Mayor has been missing now for over a week, the local military detachment has more problems than we do on keeping their troops fed and sheltered, and Paul is trying to both run the town and be Chief of Police. At least his police are still, well, policing."

"Looks like you boys laid in a good supply of wood today," Charlotte says, changing the subject deftly and smiling at her husband.

"I had some good help," Michael says, glancing over at Vic. "We made a good team. Good thing we had that wood already cut and seasoned, though. Green wood's a lot harder to split."

"I hope it lasts for a while," Vic found himself saying, gingerly rubbing his blistered hands together. Although the weather wasn't really cold, even with the incessant rain, the fireplace was their only means of cooking now that power wasn't reliable. They hadn't had electricity for over two days now, although the local power company representative assured everyone that they were "working on a fix."

"Don't worry about it, Vic," Michael says, holding up his own blistered hands. "Pretty soon we'll both have a layer of callus!"

"Just what I always wanted," Vic mutters quietly, looking down at his empty bowl. _I sure wish Dad was here._

"Mike, Will - can you please help your sister and I, and Mrs. Hawthorne, in clearing the table and doing dishes tonight?" Charlotte asks. The two boys grumble but both nod sullenly.

"Come on in the living room, Vic," Michael says. "I have something for you."

Curious, Vic follows Michael into the living room. Michael opens a cabinet and extracts a bottle and two glasses, and carefully pours a small amount of liquid into each glass. He hands a glass to Vic and raises his own.

"Vic, that's sixteen year old Tennessee whisky. I figure doing a man's work entitles you to a man's drink. Just sip it slowly - I'm sure you aren't used to it." Michael takes a sip of his drink and sighs appreciatively.

Unsure, Vic brings his glass to his lips and takes a small, careful sip. Swallowing, he coughed once as the unfamiliar liquor burns down his throat, but relaxes as the warmth hits his belly and spreads pleasantly outward.

Both men sit in the living room, illuminated by a single candle, and sip their drinks until both glasses were empty. Michael takes Vic's glass from him and sets both on the cabinet.

Vic felt that warm glow all over his body as Michael says, "Now, that's just between you and I. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Vic says. "And Mr. Everdeen? Thanks."

Michael Everdeen smiles at the young man. "It's Michael, Vic. Or Mike. And you're welcome." Michael picks up the empty glasses and carries them into the kitchen.

Vic sits in the gloom, staring out the window into the darkness. He can hear the rain beating against the window pane. Behind him, he can hear Mrs. Everdeen order Mike Jr. and Will to get ready for bed.

"Vic?" his mother says softly.

"Mom?" he replies.

Victoria comes in and sits next to her son on the couch. "How are your hands?" she asks.

Vic flexes his fingers, wincing a little. "I'll live. Like Michael says, I'll grow calluses."

"Michael?" Victoria says with a laugh. "When did you start calling him that?"

"Tonight," Vic replies. "He told me to. Mom, I like them. All of them. But I miss Dad a lot." Vic blinks furiously, trying to hold back tears. He's successful - this time.

"I know. I do too. But the Everdeens think that he's okay in Cheyenne Mountain." Victoria says.

"Yeah," Vic says. After a few minutes, Victoria gets up, and, after telling her son not to stay up too late, goes to her room. Only then does Vic let his tears come.

Vic sits and quietly cries for a while, wiping his hands across his eyes every so often, angry with himself for acting like a baby. He doesn't hear the soft footsteps entering the living room.

"Vic?" Nicole's quiet voice causes Vic to jump, startled.

"Yeah," Vic replies, furiously wiping at his eyes.

"I - well, that is - my Mom was putting this on my Dad's hands and - would you like to try it?" Nicole stammers, holding out a bottle.

"What is it?" Vic asks.

"Some sort of ointment, or liniment." Nicole answers, sitting next to Vic on the couch. "Let me see your hands."

Reluctantly Vic holds one hand out to Nicole as she moves the lone candle closer and examines his hand.

"Vic! Those are really bad!" she exclaims, pouring some of the ointment carefully into a wad of cotton, then taking his hand firmly in hers.

"This may sting - I'm sorry," Nicole says as she carefully applies the ointment to Vic's hand. Vic flinches and Nicole hears his sharp intake of breath, but he holds his hand steady. She quickly repeats the process with his other hand, getting the same response, then puts the cap back on the bottle.

"There. All done," she says. Vic flexes his fingers experimentally.

"Did it help?" Nicole asks hopefully.

"I'm not sure," Vic replies. "But at least they don't feel worse. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Nicole replies, setting the bottle and cotton on the table next to the couch.

"I - I guess I should get to bed too," Vic says, standing up. Nicole puts a hand on his arm.

"Vic, wait." Nicole gently pulls his arm and says, "Sit. Please." Vic slowly sits back on the couch.

"What is it?" Vic asks. Nicole looks at him for several seconds before replying

"Can I ask you something?" She finally asks.

"S-Sure," Vic stammers in reply.

"I saw - I mean, heard - were you crying earlier?" Nicole asks.

"No!" Vic replies emphatically, then almost immediately, "Yes."

"I - I cry too," Nicole admits. Vic glances over at her, but in the dim candlelight he can only see her silhouette clearly.

"It's different with you," Vic says gruffly. "You're a girl. Men aren't supposed to cry."

"Says who?" Nicole asks sharply. "For your information, I've heard my Dad crying. Late at night. My Mom too."

"Your Dad?" Vic asks incredulously. "But he - he's -"

"A Senator? A 'man?' I don't think any of that matters - not any more." Nicole replies. "I guess I should go to bed. Goodnight." Nicole stands up but Vic grabs her hand urgently.

"Nicole - wait." Vic says. "I - I'm sorry. About all that shit about men not crying. I - I'm just so scared...and I miss my Dad." Nicole hesitates but remains standing.

"I'm scared too, Vic," she says. "All the time. Even before - that Day." There was no need to elaborate on exactly what "that Day" was.

"Try living with an astronomer," Vic says. "Every day since January I could tell just by looking at him that it - this - was gonna be bad. I really miss him." The last part was said almost in a whisper.

Nicole sits back down on the couch next to Vic. "I know you do." she says gently. "I'm sure he's okay though - in Cheyenne Mountain and all."

A sudden flash of lighting, followed almost immediately by a loud thunderclap, caused both kids to jump suddenly.

"I hate this rain," Nicole says suddenly. "And the hurricanes - the hurricanes were the worst. I hate thunder!" Just then, another loud thunderclap shakes the house and Nicole instinctively presses closer against Vic, who awkwardly puts one arm around her slender shoulders.

The next few minutes saw the lightning storm intensify as thunder pealed almost continuously. Nicole buries her face in Vic's chest and wraps her arms around him as he clumsily put his other arm around her. Gradually Vic becomes aware of Nicole shuddering slightly against him and he realizes that she's crying quietly.

_She's crying! What do I do now? _Vic has almost no experience with girls, let alone one as pretty as Nicole. He keeps his arms around her and holds her while she cries.

"I feel so stupid," Nicole's muffled voice rises up from Vic's chest. "Crying like a little kid 'cause of some stupid thunder!" Another loud thunderclap causes Nicole to jerk again, tightening her arms around Vic.

"I'll make a deal with you," Vic says. "I won't feel stupid when I cry if you won't feel stupid when you cry. Okay?" Vic looks down at her dim shape. He can just make out her face in the sputtering candlelight.

Nicole laughs, sniffing back tears as she raises her tear-stained face to look at Vic. "Okay, deal."

Vic pulls his hand out from behind her and holds it out? "Shake on it?"

Nicole looks up at Vic, her eyes shining. "No," she whispers, raising her face up and kissing Vic on the side of his mouth. Vic, startled, jerks away reflexively.

"Don't," Nicole breathes. "Come back here." Vic feels her hand slide around to the back of his head, preventing him from moving away. Nicole kisses him again, this time full on his mouth. Vic feels his heart pounding in his chest as he slides his arm back around the petite, dark haired girl, returning her kiss eagerly.

Nicole's arms tighten around Vic's neck and Vic feels her lips part slightly, followed by the tip of her tongue gently tracing his lips. With a sigh, Vic opens his own mouth against hers, shyly touching his tongue to her lips. Nicole moans in the back of her throat and presses herself even closer to Vic.

And, for the next half hour or so, Vic Hawthorne and Nicole Everdeen forget to be scared.

**Thanks to everyone that is continuing to follow this story and review what I've written so far! Telling the story of the Catastrophes has been a challenge, and I hope that everyone has enjoyed it! Hopefully I will continue to keep you all entertained :-)**


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10 - DAY TO DAY**

**HEAVENSBEE COMPOUND - OUTSIDE FALCON, COLORADO - ONE MONTH AFTER COMET FALL**

Elliott Heavensbee squats in the mud, forlornly examining the rotting half-mature corn stalks that lay before him, flattened into the ground by the incessant rain. He barely feels the water trickling down his neck as he fishes a rotting ear of corn out of the mud and flings it away in disgust.

Elliott stands slowly, feeling his joints crack as he straightens his legs, and surveys the rest of his property. In spite of his best efforts he, along with his partners in the group they called "The Enclave," had lost a significant portion of the vegetables that they had been growing. Not only corn, but potatoes, carrots, green beans, tomatoes, squash, onion...most everything they had under cultivation was now rotting in a disgusting muddy soup. Most of what they had been growing simply had not been ready to be harvested.

_This fucking rain,_ Elliott says to himself bitterly. _A month now and it's _still _raining!_ The one commodity that they didn't lack was water. Elliott walks slowly back to the Compound, feeling the mud squish under his boots with every step. Elliott's compound mirrored those of his partners, the Trinket and Flickerman families. Converted shipping containers, stacked two high and arranged in a square, with space left for a vehicle gate and a smaller pedestrian gate. The containers had been converted to living quarters, utility rooms, and storage.

Elliott slips through the pedestrian gate, out of the rain for a moment, then enters the inner square that he calls the Courtyard. A water tower and wind turbine for electricity jutted from the ground. Vehicles and livestock were kept in the Courtyard as well, and -

_Livestock!_ Elliott grins slightly. His property was completely fenced in, with several acres of damaged and rotting produce being beaten into the mud. Unfit for people - _But for pigs and goats? Only one way to find out!_ Elliott steps over to a large metal triangle hanging near one of the metal stairways leading to the second level, grabs a straight metal rod, and starts beating on the triangle.

_Clang, clang, clang._ Pause. _Clang, clang, clang. _Pause. _Clang, clang, clang._ Three strikes of the triangle, followed by a pause, then three more, repeated as necessary - a non-emergency signal that means "I need some help." Elliott was just about to give the signal again when he heard a voice from the second level.

"Dad?" His oldest daughter, Justine, calls out from above. She was twenty-three and had been about to enter pre-med at UCLA...before the comet strike. She got her strawberry blonde hair from her father, and her striking good looks from her mother. _Thank God for that,_ Elliott had mused on more than one occassion. Elliott was himself a rather ordinary looking man, somewhat paunchy (although his paunch had been steadily disappearing since comet fall), with a fleshy, somewhat florid face.

"Need some help, honey," Elliott replies, looking up and finding his daughter peering down at him from the second level catwalk.

"Lemme grab Kacey and we'll be right down," she says, disappearing back into the module she had been in. Kacey was Justine's younger sister, just eighteen and recently graduated from high school. She had been set to start the University of Colorado in Colorado Springs. Unlike her older sister, Kacey had been having a difficult time adjusting to this new life that the comet had forced upon them all.

There was a sudden clatter of footsteps meeting metal stairs as the two girls, dressed against the weather like their father, quickly joined Elliott in the Courtyard.

"What's up?" Justine asks her father.

"I need help with the pigs and goats," Elliott quickly explains his plan to the girls, then all three turn to the task of opening the pens and herding the pigs and goats out of the Courtyard and through the now open vehicle gate. The goats weren't much of a problem, but the pigs took some coaxing. Eventually Elliott had to fish a couple of corn stalks out of the muck and lay a trail outside the gate, using ears of corn that he pulled off the stalks to lure the pigs out.

The livestock were hungry, just like their human owners. Elliott had been carefully rationing their feed, all the while mentally cursing himself for not laying in a larger supply. _These crops are ruined, _he says to himself. _For us anyway. But goats and pigs will eat just about anything!_

That proved to be the case as the both the pigs and goats soon turned to happily munching on the remains of the drowned Heavensbee garden. Elliott grins, watching the goats almost delicately pulling up greens while the pigs were snout deep in mud, noisily eating ears of corn.

_One crisis temporarily averted,_ Elliott says to himself. He turns toward his two daughters.

"Do you two feel like taking a quick ride over to the Trinket and Flickerman compounds? Let them know how to put their ruined produce to work?" Elliott asks. Kacey, who up until this time had been rather glumly going about the task of helping her father and sister, immediately brightens at the prospect. Justine readily agrees - she was her father's daughter through and through - and grins slyly while sharing a look with Elliott at Kacey's sudden mood change.

_Steve Trinket, _Elliott says to himself. _No one else could change Kacey's mood that quickly. _Steve was the Trinket's oldest child, nineteen years old._ Well, she could do a lot worse._

Kacey and Steve had hit it off immediately. Neither had been thrilled with their respective parents' decisions about building the Enclave out here in the middle of nowhere. And, although neither would admit it, they both had been seeing each other exclusively for over a year. _If that's not "going together," I don't know what is,_ Elliott says to himself.

Elliott had to admit that Kacey and Steve made a very good looking couple. Kacey was a younger version of her sister, while Steve was athletic and darkly handsome. Steve had just completed his freshman year at Colorado Springs when the comet had struck, and Elliott knew that both kids had been looking forward to attending the same university together. If only...

Elliott watches the girls leading their horses out of the pre-fab barn. Since the impact, Elliott had been very careful about fuel usage. Even though everything was hydrogen powered, the portable cracking plant that was shared by the Heavensbee, Trinket, and Flickerman families could only produce small quantities at a time, even though water as the raw material was certainly not an issue. All the Enclave members agreed to not use any motorized transport except in emergencies - which this certainly was not.

Elliott made his way to the outer gate to unlock and open it for the girls, who had now mounted up and were walking their horses towards the gate. As the girls approached the gate, Elliott called up some last minute instructions.

"Now remember, be sure to let them know about using their ruined produce for feed, and don't take - wait a minute. Girls, where's your guns?" Elliott directed his question at both girls, but it was Justine - the older of the two - that he was looking at.

"Dad, we'll be at the Trinket's in a few minutes!" Justine argued. "We don't need to be packing guns for something like that!"

"You know the rules, Justine," Elliott says firmly. "You don't leave the property unarmed. If I had my way, I wouldn't let you _outside_ unarmed, but your mother overruled me on that one. Now both of you - back to the Compound and grab your pistol belts!"

Elliott stood by the gate as the sisters, grumbling, turned their horses around and headed back to the Compound. He watched as Justine dismounted, handed her reins to her sister, and disappeared through the pedestrian gate. She reappeared a couple of minutes later and handed Kacey a gun belt, then remounted her horse, her own gun belt strapped securely around her waist. Together the girls walked their horses back to the gate.

"Satisfied?" Justine asks in a flat voice.

"Much better," Elliott says, ignoring his daughters tone as he rolls the gate open. "Now remember what I said - deliver the message and don't take all day! I'll need help later on getting the livestock penned back up."

"You could always ask Mom - or Craig," Kacey says, a defiant tone to her voice.

"Kace, the only reason I'm letting you tag along with Justine is so you can see Steve. Don't push it, little girl!" Elliott fires back at her.

"Okay, okay! Sorry, Dad!" Kacey replies, not sounding all that sorry, following her sister through the gate.

"I'm sure you are," Elliott replies dryly, rolling the gate closed, but leaving it unlocked. He stands in the rain as he watches the girls break their horses into an easy canter as they head toward the Trinket Compound, then slowly walks back to his own Compound.

* * *

Later, Elliott is sitting in the second level Kitchen Module, fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. His fingers are chilled - in addition to the incessant rain, it's unseasonably cool. He remembered watching a news program that had said that global temperatures would drop significantly following impact from the amount of dust and debris thrown into the atmosphere, plus the thick layer of cloud reflecting the suns rays away from the Earth.

_An early winter. Just one more thing to worry about. Well, if this damn rain would let up and if we get some sun, we can start in building our greenhouses, and then maybe we'll end up with some vegetables after -_

The sound of someone climbing the stairs outside intruded on his thoughts. He went over to the Courtyard window and saw Kacey heading down towards the module that contained her bedroom, while Justine was headed towards the Kitchen Module.

"You're back early," Elliott says as his daughter enters the module. Justine doesn't answer immediately but instead pours herself a cup of coffee. She carries the coffee over to the small table and sits down with her father. Elliott could read his daughter's moods expertly and knew that something was bothering her.

"Okay, what's going on?" he asks.

"The Army's on its way over here," she replies. "They were at the Trinket place earlier, and were still at the Flickerman Compound when we left."

"The Army?" Elliott asks. "What do they want?"

"They're confiscating food!" Justine blurts out. "Not only food, but other things - batteries, hydrogen, fuel oil, seed, livestock feed, ammunition - you name it!"

"What? Why?" Elliott shoots out of his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste.

"Some pompous officer gave Mr. Flickerman a written order," Justine replies. "Something about 'Redistribution of Consumables and Critical Supplies.' Said that the Army would send trucks out in three days to pick up 'excess' items, and warned Mr. Flickerman that there were serious penalties for 'hoarding.'"

"Oh, hell no!" Elliott says angrily. "That's _my_ personal property! Bought and paid for! And a lot of that food we grew and canned ourselves! I'll be _fucked_ if I'm gonna let the Army just waltz in here and take everything!"

Just then Elliott and Justine could hear the high pitched whine of several hydrogen motors, getting louder as they drew nearer.

"They're here," Justine says needlessly.

"I can see that, darlin'," Elliott says. "Go get your sister - and your brother - and see about rounding up the livestock. I'll deal with the Army."

As Justine leaves to gather up her siblings to round up the livestock still feeding on their ruined produce, Elliott pulls on his rain slicker, gulps down the rest of his coffee, and walks out of the Kitchen Module to head down to the gate and deal with the Army.

* * *

As Elliott walked through the muck towards the gate, he could see three vehicles parked on the road leading onto his property. An Army Command vehicle was in the lead, followed by a Stryker Combat Vehicle and an El Paso County Sheriff's Department car. As Elliott sauntered up to his fence, he could see a figure standing impatiently by the gate.

His heart pounding, Elliott approaches his gate. He can hear his three grown children behind him gathering up and herding the livestock back into their pens in the Courtyard.

"Can I help you?" Elliott asks as he stops at the gate.

"Mr. Elliott Heavensbee?" The uniformed figure asks.

"Doctor," Elliott replies.

"I beg your pardon?" The soldier says.

"It's Doctor. I still have my license even though I'm not in active practice," Elliott explains patiently. Elliott examines the soldier on the other side of the gate. He was young - mid twenties - wearing the bar of a First Lieutenant. His helmet and field gear that we was wearing looked clean, almost new. _Desk jockey,_ Elliott says to himself contemptuously. _This is probably the first time he's left the Mountain._

"Oh. Well. 'Doctor' Elliott Heavensbee?" The officer asks huffily.

"What do you want, Lieutenant?" Elliott asks warily.

"Doctor, I know that your daughters got her ahead of us," the Lieutenant says tiredly. "So I know that you already know why I'm here. So what do you say we don't waste each others time, Would you please unlock and open the gate so we can talk?"

Elliott was slightly taken aback by the officers direct approach, and didn't answer right away. When he recovered from his surprise, he uttered just one word. "No."

"Say again, Doctor?" The Lieutenant says in surprise.

"I said 'no,' Lieutenant," Elliott says calmly.

"Doctor, I don't think you appreciate the urgency of our situation. The refugee camps are starting to run out of everything. We're starting to face shortages inside the Security Zone. The government has had...unforeseen difficulties in re-establishing lines of communication outside the Security Zone. Believe me, President Cray didn't authorized these measures lightly."

"And if I refuse to let you in?" Elliott asks.

"Doctor, this order," the Lieutenant holds up a laminated document, "authorizes me to use whatever force I deem appropriate, up to and including the use of deadly force, to accomplish my mission. I have a fully equipped infantry squad here to back me up - and the El Paso County Sheriff is on hand to arrest and take into custody anyone who interferes with my mission.

Elliott was on the verge of telling the Lieutenant just where he could stick his signed order when a female voice calls out from the Stryker Combat Vehicle.

"Lieutenant?" The voice calls out.

"Sergeant Wise," the Lieutenant replies, never taking his eyes off of Elliott.

"Ell-tee, can I have a word with Doctor Heavensbee? I know him fairly well, and it'll only take a minute." Jamie Wise asks.

"Fine," the Lieutenant snaps. "I'll give you one minute, Sergeant Wise."

"Thanks, Ell-tee," Jamie says, sliding off the Stryker and running up to the gate, as the Lieutenant angrily walks back to his vehicle.

"Hello, Jamie," Elliott says warmly.

"Hey, Elliott," Jamie returns his warm smile. "Look, Lieutenant Cardeaux gave me one minute and believe me, he's got me on a watch. Elliott, you _have_ to let him in. Trust me on this - the government isn't taking everything you own. They'll leave you with some food, seed, livestock feed, and consumables. What they want is the excess that they consider to be hoarding."

"Goddammit, Jamie, this smacks of taxation without representation! This stuff is _mine_! What do I care about some refugees, anyway?" Elliott says angrily.

"Elliott, you're a doctor. Would you turn away someone sick or hurt?" Jamie asks gently.

"You know the answer, Jamie. I hold my oath to be sacred." Elliott replies gruffly.

"Cardeaux isn't happy about doing this," Jamie says. "But it's only temporary. Please let him in and talk to him. I don't want to have to fire on someone I consider a friend." Jamie is almost pleading by this time.

Elliott mulls it over. Staff Sergeant Jamie Wise has always dealt with him fairly and honestly. He regards the young sergeant as she mops futility at her dark face with an OD green bandana around her neck.

"Okay," Elliott says finally, giving Jamie a rueful grin before turning back to Lieutenant Cardeaux. Elliott unlocks the gate and starts to roll it open.

"Alright, Lieutenant," he says resignedly. "Come on it. But just you and Sergeant Wise. I don't want your vehicles rolling over what's left of my crops. I'm using them to feed my livestock."

"Thank you, Doctor," Cardeaux says formally, as he and Jamie Wise step through the gate and fall in step with Elliott as they walk up to the Compound. "And - for what it's worth - I am sorry about this. I'm just following my orders."

"Just like the Nazis at Auschwitz," Elliott mutters to himself. "'Just following orders.'"

* * *

The meeting doesn't take very long. In three days' time, trucks would arrive to cart away those items deemed "excess." Before then, however, Elliott and his family would be visited by a team to inventory his consumables and livestock, and a nutritionist who would calculate the calorie intake that the Heavensbee family would need on a daily basis.

"There's a very sizeable cache of grain and fuel oil under our control nearby," Lieutenant Cardeaux explains. "They're both part of the National Grain and Petroleum Reserve. It's really the only consumables that we have in abundance. Once your excess has be re-distributed, your family will be eligible for a monthly ration of grain and fuel oil from these Reserves, regardless of how much food and other consumables that we allow you to retain under your control. The grain and fuel ration is determined by size of household."

"How generous," Elliott says sarcastically, earning a warning look from his wife.

"Elliott! Lieutenant Cardeaux is just doing his job!" Katharine Heavensbee chides her husband.

"I know, I know. This whole deal just stinks!" Elliott says angrily.

"Doctor, being as you possess a critical skill, you may be eligible for an Occupational Exemption. This means you'd be able to retain a larger share of consumables. I've mentioned this to Mr. and Mrs. Trinket as well as Mr. and Mrs. Flickerman. Those with skills in the Medical, Law Enforcement, Military, and Aviation fields can get a larger share." Cardeaux explains. "Mrs. Heavensbee, what was your pre-impact occupation?"

Katharine Heavensbee chuckles lightly. "Science fiction writer," she says with a smile. "I'm sure that's not on your critical occupation list." Katharine, a popular science fiction (writing under a pseudonym) author before the comet strikes, was still an attractive woman even in middle age, with the light complexion and freckles of a natural redhead. She was slim and athletic, and it was easy to see where her kids got their athleticism from.

"Ma'am, I'll pass that on up the chain. There's a group called 'The Brain Trust' whose job it is to basically think up ways to speed up our Recovery. Perhaps you could get on that. Like I said, I'll pass it on up the chain," Cardeaux says.

"That does sound interesting," Katharine muses softly.

"I'll leave a copy of all this with you, Doctor - Mrs. Heavensbee," Cardeaux says, standing up. "Ready, Sergeant Wise? We still have some calls to make."

"Ready, Ell-tee," Jamie stands up and adjusts her gear. Cardeaux offers his hand to Elliott, who takes it after just a moments' hesitation.

"Again, sir, I'm not happy about this. But I do appreciate your cooperation." Cardeaux says, giving Elliott a firm handshake.

"I understand, Lieutenant," Elliott says tiredly.

Cardeaux gives Elliott a tight smile, then turns and offers his hand to Katharine. "Ma'am," he says, shaking her hand, then flicking his eyes towards Jamie. She nods, quickly says goodbye to Elliott and Katharine, then both soldiers exit the Kitchen Module, followed by Elliott and Katharine.

Elliott and Katharine walk to the gate and securely lock it, and watch the small convoy drive away, disappearing up the road. Only then do they trudge back to the Compound.

**HEAVENSBEE COMPOUND - OUTSIDE FALCON, COLORADO - THREE DAYS LATER**

Elliott, along with Bobby Trinket and Stu Flickerman, watch as the large general purpose prime mover pull slowly away from the Heavensbee Compound, heavily laden with all manner of supplies that had be "re-distributed" from his carefully maintained supplies. Food, fuel, batteries, ammunition, livestock feed - not to mention actual livestock - seed, lubricating oils, even a good portion of the liquor stock he had laid in - all of it was sitting in the back of the truck and the large trailer it was pulling. The big eight-wheeled vehicle rolled carefully back to the gate, where Craig was standing by to close and lock it as soon as it was through.

Lieutenant Cardeaux had been true to his word. The Re-Distribution Team had come out a couple of days before. Elliott, Craig, and Justine had worked with the soldiers actually conducting the inventory, while Katharine and Kacey consulted with the nutritionist about their families' nutrition needs over the next several months.

"You folks have it better than most," the Sergeant in charge of the team had said. "You still have some electricity available, hot water, and you'll still have a good supply of food and other consumables even after we're done here."

_Done ste_a_ling, you mean_, is the thought that goes through Elliott's mind, but all he said was, "Well, that's what comes from living off the grid."

Still, there had been one unexpected surprise. It turned out that Elliott was, in fact, eligible for an Occupational Exemption, which meant that he would be allowed to keep an additional twenty five percent of consumables that were earmarked for Re-Distribution. In talking with his Enclave partners he discovered that they, too, were eligible as well - Bobby and Julia Trinket with their Law Enforcement background, Stu Flickerman's status as a single and multi engine hoverplane pilot, and Trudy Flickerman as a trauma nurse.

Elliott had already set up one of his shipping modules as a combination office/examination room/minor surgery suite. Trudy had agreed to assist him with her nursing skills. Elliott was informed by the Re-Distribution Sergeant that a Medical Officer from Cheyenne Mountain would come out soon to assess what medical supplies he would need to operate a clinic.

Bobby and Julia had been informed that a representative from the El Paso County Sheriff's Department would contact them in a day or so to give them assistance and advice in forming what would in effect be a volunteer militia, consisting mostly of the rural residents around the Falcon area.

The Re-Distribution Sergeant had enthusiastically examined the single engine hoverplane that Stu owned, and Stu was informed that an Aviation Officer from Cheyenne Mountain would be in touch, and that the hoverplane was "perfect" for "short range missions" in the immediate area.

The three men watch the big prime mover roll through the gate, which Craig immediately rolls shut and locks. Elliott looks at his two partners and says, "C'mon. I'll buy you both a drink."

The men wait for Craig to join them, then the foursome trudge back to the Compound in silence. Elliott and Stu had met up at the Trinket Compound first thing that morning when the Re-Distribution Team had showed up, then, along with Bobby, had moved on over to the Flickerman Compound, and finally to the Teams last stop, the Heavensbee Compound.

The three men had traveled between their Compounds by ATV, deciding that keeping a watchful eye on the Army warranted the expenditure of hydrogen. Bobby and Stu had left their ATV's parked just inside the vehicle gate, while Elliot had rolled his back into the storage building/garage behind the Compound.

The four men climb the metal stairs to the upper level and enter the module that Elliott calls the Living Room. The four carefully remove their muddy boots before entering, padding into the room wearing damp socks. Elliott opens a sideboard and removes several bottles and glasses, setting everything on top of the sideboard. He waves his hand at the bottles.

"No ice, and no mix except water," he says. "Help yourselves."

Without waiting for the others, Elliott grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels and pours a healthy drink for himself. He watches as the others pour their drinks - Bobby opting for the John Jameson, Stu the Johnnie Walker, and Craig the Grey Goose. When everyone had poured their drink, Elliott raises his glass.

"To Re-Distribution," he says sarcastically, "Where now everyone has an equal opportunity to eventually starve."

"To the last liquor in the world," Bobby says, taking a slow sip of his drink.

"To The Enclave," Stu says, "And to being forced from retirement to work for what's already ours to begin with."

The men sip their drinks thoughtfully, the Elliott looks at his son. "Nothing to add, Craig?"

"Just wondering what's taking Mom so long," Craig says. "They should have been done by now." Katharine, along with Justine and Kacey, had gone over to help Julia Trinket re-organize following their Re-Distribution - and, of course, to give Kacey a chance to spend a little time with Steve Trinket. From there, Katharine and Justine, along with Julia Trinket and their seventeen year old daughter, Sarah, were to head to the Flickerman place - leaving Kacey and Steve alone for a while. Now, everyone was expecting Katharine and Justine, along with Julia Trinket, as well as Trudy and Tamara Flickerman (Sarah Trinket would stay with Connor Flickerman as part of Enclave Rule Number One: Two people with each Compound at all times - not that either Sarah or Connor would complain about being left in each others' company) to show up at the Heavensbee Compound to finish the last of the Re-Distribution re-organizing.

"Yeah, I know," Elliott says. "I knew we should have gone out with portables today."

"Why waste batteries?" Bobby says. "On foot we're less than 10 minutes from each other, and much less than that on ATV or horseback."

"Bobby, I think Elliott has a good point," Stu says, chiming in. "Times are different now. Remember what the soldiers that were just here were saying? About the troubles in the refugee camps? Some of that's bound to spill over into communities like Falcon - even the Springs is having their share of problems."

"Oh, sure, eventually, maybe -" Bobby begins, only to have Craig shush him frantically.

"Quiet!" Craig barks. The three older men look at Craig, bemused.

"What?" Elliott asks.

"Listen! There it is again!" The three older men then heard what Craig's sharper hearing had already picked up - a series of popping sounds, coming from the general direction of the Flickerman Compound.

Bobby looks at the others in alarm. "Gunshots!" He exclaims.

Without another word the four men head in unison for the door, pausing to pull on their boots and rain jackets. The quickly clamber down the metallic stairway to the Courtyard. None of them needed to grab weapons - they were all carrying pistols in hip or shoulder rigs as a matter of habit.

Bobby and Stu head for their ATV's while Craig runs awkwardly across the muddy field to unlock the gate. Elliott heads to the garage and fires up two ATV's - his and Craig's, then rolls out of the opened double doors towards the gate. Before leaving the garage, however, he grabs four small portable radios and stuffs them in his pockets.

Elliott races to the gate, now unlocked and open. He gestures for Craig to get on the back of his ATV, intending to take him back to the garage, but before he goes he turns to Bobby and Stu and hands each a portable.

"Channel Three. You two head out. Craig and I'll be right behind you." Elliott knew they were breaking the First Rule - but those gunshots were close.

As it turned out, they never made it out of the gate. Craig was mounting up on his ATV when their radios crackled.

"Elliott! Craig! Stand down! We met up with the women! We're coming back in! Stand by the gate!" Stu's voice sounded frantic - almost panicked.

"Copy. Standing by," Elliott replied and looked over at his son. The two men shrugged and both gunned their ATV's out of the garage toward the gate. Once at the gate Craig quickly dismounted and rolled the gate back open. By this time they could see the group approaching - Bobby and Stu on ATV's, the rest of the group on horseback. But - something seemed to be wrong. One of the riders was slumped over, not even holding the reins, but instead had her arms wrapped loosely around the neck of her horse.

Elliott felt his mouth go dry when he recognized the horse. Without realizing it, he started to shake his head.

"No," he says in a voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Dear God, no."

He could make out his wife, holding the reins of the other horse. Katharine was splattered with blood but sitting upright, and Elliott could see tear tracks on her face even through the rain.

Katharine spots Elliott and screams out. "Elliott! Help!" As they draw closer Elliott's worst fears were confirmed - but Katharine's next statement put an exclamation point to his confirmation.

"Oh, Elliott! They shot Justine!"


End file.
